


Semper Fidelis

by Falafel_Waffel



Series: Semper Fidelis [2]
Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Military, F/M, Marine Corps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 56
Words: 215,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falafel_Waffel/pseuds/Falafel_Waffel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Always loyal. Nothing's come easy for Sergeant Katniss Everdeen. She's had to fight for everything, and as a result has become proud in her self-reliance, but when she's deployed to Iraq a ghost from her past reminds her it's ok to lean on someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what her name is on here, but thank you Chelzie for taking the time to beta all the back chapters of this story, as well as the ones currently being posted on fanfiction.net. :D
> 
> I don't own the Hunger Games.

Summary: The day she graduated high school, Katniss Everdeen signed the next eight years of her life away to the United States Marine Corps. She fought her way through basic training; even talked her way into sniper training, earning her a cushy job guarding government officials in a non-deployable battalion. This was until her country went to war in the Middle East. Much to her younger sister's dismay, she was placed into the 74th Battalion stationed in Fallujah, Iraq.  Katniss soon finds that the small base is not only filled with Marines who want nothing more to see her crack, but a ghost from her past she never thought she'd see again. Present Day AU.

 

* * *

_Part One: Honor_

Honor: Honor requires each Marine to exemplify the ultimate standard in ethical and moral conduct. Honor is many things; honor requires many things. A U.S. Marine must never lie, never cheat, never steal, but that is not enough. Much more is required. Each Marine must cling to an uncompromising code of _personal integrity_ , accountable for his actions and holding others accountable for theirs. And, above all, honor mandates that a Marine never sully the reputation of his Corps.

* * *

**Chapter 1 – The Arrival**

_May 2003_

I have never been on a plane for something other than work. Yeah, that's what we'll call it - work. I huff and unbuckle myself from the uncomfortable seat. We're somewhere over Turkey at this point and will be landing in Iraq in a few hours.

Most of my battalion is either asleep or doing their own thing, leaving me no one to talk to, though this is something I'm familiar with.

I hurry to the bathroom and lock the door before turning on the water. I had vomited up my lunch somewhere above the Atlantic, and my dinner somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea. As I heave into the toilet, the only thing that comes up is my own saliva and some stomach acid. The floor smells faintly of urine, an odor I had become accustomed to living on base. It's nothing bad though, just confirmation that men are absolute slobs.

I pull Prim’s picture out of my pants pocket. She's smiling, her blonde hair in two braids. "You'd think a bunch of snipers would have better aim, wouldn't you?" I smirk, kissing my sister’s photograph. I sigh as I remember the day I decided to go to a deployable division; the day I broke her heart.

" _No!" she shouted over and over. I had been in a non-deployable division protecting government officials for the last four years of my life. It was a cushy job; I was even on a first name basis with the President, but I knew it wouldn't last._

_The Marines trained me as a sniper, something they would always need more of in Iraq and Afghanistan. I started feeling useless at my post, anxious, until I went into my commanding officer's office and demanded to be switched to a battalion that was going overseas._

" _They have people over there who got the same training as you! Why do you have to go? Why are you leaving us?" she sobbed._

" _Prim… I have to, it's my job!" I tried to explain, but this didn't seem to sink in. "My brothers and sisters are dying over there while I sit in DC guarding a door! Innocent lives, Primrose!" I stood up and looked to my mother, somehow expecting her to agree, to understand why I knew I had to go._

 _How could I ask this of her? Her husband was a POW in the Gulf War, only to be returned to us in a flag draped coffin. "I have to do this, for him," I said as I excused myself from the dinner table. Someday, they would understand that I wasn't running off to come back in a pine box draped in the stars and stripes, that I was fighting for them._ _Just as I always had._

I return to my seat to get some shut eye. It's easier to come by than I had originally thought and before I know it, we're in sunny Fallujah, Iraq.

To say it's hot would be an understatement. I'm clad in only a tan t-shirt and camouflage pants, but soaked with sweat the second I step off the plane.

"Welcome to Paradise, Sergeant!" I feel an arm around me, which I shy away from as always.

"Dammit Hawthorne, can't you behave for five minutes?" I exclaim as he grins.

"I'm sorry, I haven't seen my best friend for six months and you expect me to  _behave_?"

Gale Hawthorne is my brother, though not biological. He and I had grown up together in our small mountain town in upstate Pennsylvania. Our fathers were Marines together and returned to us in the same manner when I was ten and he was eleven. After their deaths, we took on the burden of feeding our families, becoming hunting partners when his mother turned up pregnant and my mother tuned out for about six months.

After I graduated high school, Gale and I walked to the recruiter's office together and, like our fathers before us, signed our lives over to the United States Marine Corps. We went through basic training together as well as sniper training, though one of us passed the test for counter sniper and one of us didn't.

He's still jealous.

"How's Prim? Still hating Washington?" He shrugs off his helmet and jacket. "Don't worry, I was off about ten minutes ago, but you're late as always," he says, shoving me playfully.

"Sorry, heavy traffic over Syria," I smirk, taking my bags, one over my shoulder and two in my hands. I wouldn't be able to see my weapon. "She misses Wilkes-Barre, but she's safer there. Mom even seems to be getting her shit together, went back to get her nursing degree." Gale goes for one of my bags, but I slap his hand away.

There are two stereotypes women have to fight in places like this. If you're too friendly with the men, you're deemed a slut. Too standoffish, they call you a dyke. Honestly, I'd rather them all think I'm a lesbian over easy. In fact, the only man who had actually known me like that was Gale. We tried dating when we were teenagers, but it felt so wrong to both of us. He's now with fellow Marine Johanna Mason, though she is currently in Afghanistan and he's stuck here. Skype is their only means of interaction.

Gale tugs on my braid a little as I walk ahead of him towards my room. "I thought they were going to give you the G.I. Jane treatment and cut it all off," he says passively, rubbing his hand over his own almost bald head.

I smile and laugh, maybe this won't be so bad. "No, as long as I keep it under control, I can keep it. It also folds up so neatly under my helmet." I find the door labeled ‘Staff Sergeant Katniss Everdeen’ and throw it open. The room is furnished with a desk, a bed and a small wardrobe. My sheets are folded neatly on the bed. I only have a short time to ready my room for inspection. Then suddenly I remembered - that's my job now. Sure, someone who outranks me can always come in and give me a hard time, but I'm now the babysitter for my battalion.

I shamelessly lift up my shirt to apply more deodorant, which, in this environment is my best friend. I hear a whistle from outside. "Watch it, Cato," Gale hisses at the blond poking his head in my room. Instead of shying away, I throw off my top and put my hands on my hips.

"See something you've never seen before, Private?" I ask, my hands on my hips, "Or do you think it's appropriate to harass your Sergeant?" A crowd has gathered to see me standing there in my cargo pants and sports bra. Two of them are deadly looking girls - a blond with the name "Glimmer" and a short brunette with "Clove" on her breast. Next, a lanky looking male with "Marvel" on his tag, but my breath catches in my throat when I see the last one. " _Mellark,"_  I mouth. I move to my bag and pull out a clean t-shirt.

"One shot, one kill. So you're the new sniper," Cato is trying to push his way in my room after seeing the tattoo on my shoulder.

" _Counter_  sniper," Gale makes a point of telling them. My eyes remain focused on Mellark - how do I know that name?

He's about six feet tall, with ashy blonde hair that's getting just a little too long for regulation. His eyes are bright blue and boring into mine. Where do I know him from?

"Let's go," Cato finally says to his cronies, realizing he's getting nothing more from me. Glimmer, Clove and Marvel follow him without question, but Mellark's eyes linger on me before joining them.

"Ugh, PFC's, am I right?" Gale takes off his jacket, his shirt is sticking to him and I can smell the all too familiar aroma of sweaty man.

"Give them a bar, they take a mile…" I put the fitted sheet on my bed before going for the flat. "You should get washed up, Gale, I can handle myself from here," I say, earning a suspicious look. I flex my arm, showing the toned muscle that's covered by my olive skin. "I’ve got this. I'm just going to make my bed, grab something to eat, and get some sleep." I glance at the paper on my desk. "I have a meeting at Command at eighteen hundred and I'm on guard duty from twenty three hundred to oh seven hundred."

"Sounds fun. You'll be with your Corporal; he'll show you the ropes. He's from Wilkes, just like us." I nod.

"What are the odds?" I ask, but Gale has already left.

I don't have much, just my clothes and the laptop Prim made me buy before my deployment so we could Skype. Internet can be buggy in a place like this, but I have a good enough connection to e-mail Prim and let her know that I've landed safely.

I send my mother a quick message as well. They are moving to a home in Jacksonville, North Carolina; as per my contract, I would be stationed there after my tour of duty in Iraq. Mom has been having a hard time finding a job in Washington, but apparently found one after a few days of searching. The lease on the apartment will be up in a few weeks. I can't believe I entrusted my flighty mother to find us a place in a city and state she has never lived in.

My stomach growls, but then I realize how absolutely disgusting I am. I was too nervous to bathe before I left the States, so I head for the bathroom with my tote containing two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, soap, and a razor. I have seven minutes to shower, but this is nothing new. In the Marines, you learn strategies for bathing faster. Two-in-one shampoo is the first step, the second is multi-tasking. Instead of standing there and winning mental arguments with people I'd likely never see again, I would wash my body while the conditioner soaked into my hair. I'd shave certain parts of me on certain days. Armpits every day, since that only takes a few seconds; lower legs one day, upper legs the other. If I feel adventurous or abnormally disgusting, I tackle my groin on the third day. I'm not expecting anyone important to be looking down there, so no harm in letting it go for a few days.

This time, I have a giant room with shower heads hanging from the ceiling all to myself. It's nothing fancy, so I let my mind wander to the familiar face from earlier.

" _Mellark… Mellark…"_ I mouth his surname over and over, letting the water beat down on my head. Then it hits me - maybe the water beating down on my head helps, especially since it's almost as cold as that day in April.

_At my father’s funeral, I was handed a folded up flag and a medal of honor. My mother sobbed and held my confused sister, who just asked for her Daddy over and over again. We walked home from the cemetery in the cold April air. The second the door shut, my mother's brain switched off. No amount of pleading would bring her out of bed. She stopped going to work long enough that they fired her._

_Prim and I were just kids, and soon enough, we were completely out of food. Out of desperation, I drug a bag of our old baby clothes to the flea market though no one was interested in well-worn baby clothes. Clumsy me, I dropped them in a puddle on the way home and left them there, feeling defeated._

_Then I smelled it - the aroma of fresh baked bread. The bakery was known to throw out its fair share of edible goodies just because they sat on the shelf for a day or two. I could feed my family for at least a night from here. Unfortunately, in my weakened state, I dropped the trash can lid. The kindly baker's witch of a wife threw the back door open, yelling something about 'Seam trash'. The poorer part of Wilkes-Barre was called “the Seam”; it was a row of decrepit homes that I had lived in my whole life. The baker’s wife swung at me with a rolling pin, cracking me on the cheek once before something called her back inside. I ran to their apple tree, clutching my face, my eyes finding the baker’s youngest son. He was in my grade. Peeta._

_He ran inside, not bothering to close the door. Before long, he came running out the door holding a brown paper bag which he threw to me. I looked inside – it contained rolls and bread. I mouthed a thank you, but he was already back inside. I closed the bag and took off for home._

_The bruise on my cheek and the food seemed to awaken something in my mother. Soon, she had applied for government help and was seeing a psychologist._

_I never really trusted her again._

_And I never was able to thank the boy with the bread._

"Hell-o?" an attitude filled voice asks. I look up at the tiny brunette. "You've been here for a day, too early to start having breakdowns.” I recognize her as Private Clove. I wipe my eyes, not realizing I've been crying. _Wonderful._

"Sorry, just got a sad e-mail from my baby sister. Surely you can relate to someone back home making this even harder." I shut off the water and squeeze out my hair, moving to the changing area without a word. Surely Cato will be the first one she tells; he's going to eat me alive.


	2. Guard Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own The Hunger Games.

**Chapter 2 – Guard Duty**

I've always been terrible at making friends. Even now at lunch, I sit at the end of a crowded table staring at my lukewarm food as I push it around with my fork. Protein, vegetable, and carbohydrate all drowned in Tabasco sauce to hide the somewhat terrible flavor.

That's when I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Gale, leave me alone," I say, brushing it off.

"Not quite, princess." I roll my eyes and brush the returned hand off my shoulder again. "You look at me when I'm talking to you, little girl."

Cato’s voice is grave, but I continue eating. I won't let him see me crack, especially in this room full of onlookers. "Could you go bother someone else? I'd like to get my food in me before it gets colder," I say, adding more hot sauce. I bring my fork to my face before my head is tugged back by my braid.

"Listen, little lady, you think you can waltz right in here and boss  _me_  around?" Cato doesn't let up. I drop my fork reaching for his hand, though he threatens to rip the hair out of my head.

"No, I _know_ I can get sent here, outrank you, and tell you what to do," I sneer, clawing at his grabby hands. I look up and see his dark eyes, lustful and hungry. I'm a challenge to him; a challenge he doesn't get with Clove or Glimmer, I guess.

"Private!" a threatening voice scolds not far from me, "Is there a problem here?"

"Just teaching the little girl the ropes around here," he says and releases my hair, each and every follicle burning from the torment, "Corporal."

"So that means assaulting your commanding officer? Do you want to see how well that will go for you?"

He grunts, but I refuse to look up just yet. "She wouldn't snitch on me, _sir._ " Cato doesn't say anything else, just grabs my shoulders again and squeezes them before walking away. I sigh and go back to my food, hoping the gawkers will do the same and the Corporal leaves. No such luck, however, as I see the chair next to me move and become occupied. I shiver a little, trying to get rid of the heebie jeebies Cato had given me.

"Thanks," I say, before looking up into the concerned blue eyes of Peeta Mellark. "Corporal Mellark…"

He smiles faintly, "Well…you don't have to say it like that. And you should report Cato to the brass. Major Abernathy doesn't take that kind of behavior lightly."

I slouch over and finish my food. "No, that will just make me look weak. There are other ways of punishing someone." I slide the edge of my fork across the bottom of my plate, cleaning off every bit of gravy and hot sauce.

"Geez, Everdeen, you eat like you'll never see food again," he remarks. I turn to look at him, _really_ look at him, hoping the shock doesn't leave my face. Maybe he doesn't remember. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate, after…" he stutters.

"No, it was fine," I say, standing up. "I'm assuming you're on guard with me tonight, so I'll see you then." I throw out my trash and walk out of the mess hall. _I will not cry_ , I tell myself over and over.

Sleep easily comes to me once I draw the blinds and lock my door. I set my alarm for 1700, giving myself an hour to get in my uniform. Since women out here are few and far between, I won't have a roommate. No one would question why I was sleeping the day away, or intrude on my few hours of uninterrupted slumber.

I wake up in a pool of my own drool and begrudgingly pick myself up off the thin mattress I'd be spending the next six months on. If they send me into combat, I'll spend twelve hours at a time in a sitting position waiting for my target, the other twelve either curled up in a corner with my partner, or in a group tent sleeping on a cot or a hammock. I have never shot or killed a human before. This is something that makes me nervous, but I have to remind myself that I'm doing it to protect her. _To protect Prim._

I tuck my pants into my boots, lacing them up tightly and pick up my bulletproof vest. Sweet, heavy Kevlar that honestly won't protect me much against a sniper’s round, but a .22 would feel like a firm punch. Normally Kevlar isn't necessary for guard duty on base, but as my paper said, "Snipers in the area" meant the whole nine yards.

I sling my jacket over my shoulder after putting on my dog-tags, just in case. I still have about twenty minutes before I have to be at command, so they can tell me I'll basically be spending the next six months on guard duty because they don't think a female sniper can deliver. I sit down on my bed, feeling more alone in this desert surrounded by jarheads than ever before.

"I don't want to worry you, but I really miss you…" I tell Prim's picture. "Remember all the nights I came home from work angry because my division couldn't take me seriously?" I sigh, "This is worse than that because there's actually people's lives on the line…" I huff, tucking her picture safely back into the webbing of my helmet.

 _Time to go to command…_  As I walk through the halls, it's rumored that a General is on base today, just what I want to deal with.

I push open the door to the very air conditioned room. "Ah, Sergeant Everdeen!" I hear someone say. Most of my battalion is seated around the table. I only know the Major in passing, with short brown hair and a five o'clock shadow. If not for his rank, he'd be held down and shaved clean.

"Major Abernathy, sir!" I'll admit to giving a half-assed salute as I take an empty seat next to a red-headed man, Major Odair. At my presence, he shifts uneasily towards the tiny woman next to him.

"Good evening, 74th," Abernathy intones, "I'm glad you all could make it." I scan the table. Though the Major is speaking, everyone's eyes are on me. "First and foremost,” he continues, “I hope you can all understand our decision to keep you out of combat for a few weeks, at least until you're better acquainted with your new Sergeant.” He turns to address me. “Perhaps you'd like to introduce yourself?"

I groan a little and stand. "My name is Staff Sergeant Katniss Everdeen. I was born in the small mountain town of Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, just like Corporal Mellark. I trained at Lejeune just like many of you, and after that I decided I wanted to become a sniper." I hear a small chuckle, since women aren't usually trained as snipers, but continue on. "Yeah, I had to fight for that, but I passed, then passed my counter-sniper training," I hear a murmur. My eyes find Cato, who continues looking at me like I'm a piece of meat. "I've spent the first few years of my contract in DC, sitting up in the rafters whenever someone was making a speech."

I sit back down, figuring I’d said enough. They don't need to know about why I chose to come to Iraq, because to be honest, even I wasn't sure why I volunteered. I found myself in the same land where my father was captured, tortured and returned to us in a sealed casket after his prison camp was liberated.

Abernathy speaks again, "Since there seems to be some opposition to your new commanding officer, we're expecting to see you all out doing PT. Remember, it gets to be one hundred twenty here, so early mornings are the best time." The major slides a roster in my direction, "For scheduling guard duty and their room assignments to make sure they're in line," Abernathy says as he smirks at me. "You're all dismissed, except for Everdeen and Mellark."

"One second," I lean over to Peeta and ask quietly, "You could do a few hours of PT after guard duty, right?" He nods.

"Mellark and I get off guard duty at oh seven hundred. Be at the obstacle course by oh seven fifteen, ready to sweat!" I bark and they all groan. "You're all dismissed!" Peeta takes the roster from me and begins writing on it as Odair and Abernathy are whispering to each other.

"As you may or may not know, this battalion was bound for Baghdad before they suffered heavy losses. Now, we still intend to send you there, but not until you all know how to work together. We're not sending some dumb kids into a war zone, especially when they're too busy worrying that their commanding officer is a woman," Abernathy begins.

"You have an impressive résumé, Sergeant… set all the records at Lejeune, but missed the long shot by fifty yards…" Major Odair comments as he flips through my file.

Abernathy props his dusty boots on the table, "Wait… Everdeen… are you Abraham's kid?" I suck in air and nod through gritted teeth. "He was part of my company… Good man," I nod again, but I think he was expecting me to speak.

"Yeah, my mother didn't take it too well," I lament. He nods, taking the sheet from Peeta and letting out a loud chuckle.

"Gimme that," he says, taking the pen and writing something on the paper. "Here you go, Sarge, everything you need to know about the 74th Battalion…"

I snatch the paper away from him; Peeta has written a few notes next to the names:

_PFC Daniel Cato – Self-proclaimed "ladies man", quite possibly mentally ill._

_Pvt Lisa Clove – Impressive with a knife, ninja division?_

_PFC Jacob Marvel – "Sniper extraordinaire"_

_LCprl Annie Cresta – Deceptively non-threatening_

_PFC Dina Glimmer - Most likely to be found in Cato's bed_

The last was written in Abernathy's handwriting.

_Cprl Peeta Mellark – Speaks five languages, only one who bothers to not make us look like a bunch of blood thirsty assholes._

"Five languages?" I ask, impressed. I can only speak English, though they had been trying to teach me Arabic.

"Yep - Farsi, Arabic, French, Spanish, English… plus, I'm learning Mandarin," he says proudly as my jaw drops. "Speaking of which, when do you think we'll get back into town? Rue's going to be done with the book I gave her last time."

"Rue?" I ask.

He picks his helmet up off the table and pulls a picture out of the webbing. "Here," he says, handing it to me. The photo is worn around the edges, but feels oh so precious. Normally, a Marine in full combat uniform is threatening, but he's crouched next to a beaming dark skinned girl. "Her mom was killed in the crossfire, but her dad's surprisingly forward thinking. He caught me teaching her how to read one day and just grinned, saying that it was about time someone gave his daughter a chance to make something of herself."

I find myself wondering why he doesn't have a picture of his family in there. I lean over and notice a picture of a large mutt. It's cute; dumb dog eyes full of love, with a smooth, rust-colored coat and a large tongue.

"You won't be back there for a good two weeks. I can deliver something to her if you want, we're going out there in two days," Odair says and Mellark nods at him, grinning.

"I told her about  _To Kill a Mockingbird_. It was the book I used to get familiar with the language." They seem to have forgotten about me, so I continue reading the roster. Cato is the one scheduled to relieve Peeta and I at 0700, that would have to change…

"Mellark, could you show me to Cato's room?” I ask. “I need to tell him we're moving his guard duty to later in the day…"

"I can have Hawthorne fill in, he's been working that shift," Odair tells me, and I nod.

"1500?" I ask. Guard shifts are eight hours, so three in a day. You can't leave your post until the next person comes to relieve you. Most jobs are at a tower or guarding a door. Since we're technically officers, Peeta and I have the privilege of patrol.

"Yeah yeah, I'll be sure to tell him."

Abernathy is watching me intently, which means this is do or die time. The time when I make my mark on the USMC, and surely my Major will be watching my every move.

"No need, I have time to tell both of them. I'm sure you've got something more important to do besides dealing with guard schedules." I say, earning a grin from Major Odair.

"Smart kid, you're both dismissed."

Peeta and I walk back to the dormitories in silence. I read each name plate on the door until I find Gale's, knocking loudly. "Hawthorne! Put your pants back on and open the door!" I yell through the thick wood. I hear stumbling before a disheveled Gale Hawthorne opens the door. His computer is open and I can see a woman's face, laughing.

"The nerve of you, boy," I scold him. "I need a favor… Guard duty from 0700 to 1500?" He's blushing deeply and I'm not sure he fully heard me. "Gale?" I ask in a sing-song voice, trying to pull him back to reality.

"Yeah yeah, sure, why though?"

"PT, can't do it midday and one of my privates has duty that shift," I say, leaning on the door frame and crossing my arms.

"Sounds good. Now… is there anything else, Catnip, or can I go back to my nap?"

I roll my eyes and begin putting my jacket on. "Sure, Gale… your 'nap'. Nice meeting ya, Jo… kind of." Gale backs up and closes the door in my face.

"Huh…" Peeta starts and leads me to Cato's room. "Here I thought you and Gale were together, just not official because… you know." The brass tends to separate married couples. This is mostly because if the woman gets pregnant, it means a loss of man power and a waste of money, since they have to fulfill their own contract and their fill in's.

"Oh no, Gale's my best friend from back home. Why, do we look like a couple?" I ask in the most lovestruck voice I can muster, which being me is not much.

"Nah, just after school and everything… everyone thought you two would end up hitched, then you up and enlisted." I shiver a little at his response. Gale is basically my brother.

Peeta pounds on Cato's door, "Private, open up!" His voice is deep and full of command, nothing like the kind eyes he always wore.

A shirtless Cato opens the door, and a disheveled Clove sits blushing on the bed. _Wonderful…_

"Oh, Sarge, looks like I can't make it to your PT! I have guard duty in the AM," he informs me in a smug voice.

"Not anymore. Major Odair understands the importance of us all being in attendance, so we swapped your shift with Hawthorne." He snaps his jaw closed and slams the door in our faces. "Bitch!" he hisses from behind it.

I just shrug in return, "Let’s do this… Show me the ropes, Mellark."

We put on our helmets and are issued our rifles. "Wait, this isn't mine…" I mumble, looking over the brand new stock and barrel. "Where's mine? The one I came here with?" I checked the scope, it was all wrong!

"There was damage to yours; it needed a new scope and barrel." I huff in return and sling it over my shoulder.

"All wrong!" I grumble, checking the scope again and again. It's adjusted for a man, who never has to worry about his breasts getting in the way. It took me days to get my scope perfect, and then in four hours, they ruined it.

"We have like twenty before we have to relieve the people at our post… firing range?" Peeta suggests, holding out a screwdriver.

I load a magazine into my rifle. The sound of it clicking into place usually sends chills down my spine - a marvel of modern engineering snapping perfectly into place with little to no resistance. But right now, I'm too angry to appreciate it.

Apparently, my reputation precedes me. As I assume the standing shooting position, people stop moving. I fire one shot, missing the kill zone by a few shameful inches. I let out another grumble and begin adjusting. A second shot, and I'm doing better. Hit the kill zone, even though I never shot from standing - always sitting or lying. There were long tables faced for seated shooting, but that's basically like standing. Instead, I move the table long ways and lie down.

I hear the murmurs already. Female shooter? Laying down? The furthest target out is 500 yards, an easy shot for me.

I pull back the bolt, my spent casing falling to the ground, only making small adjustments before double tapping the trigger. Right in the kill zone!

I give a smug smile before rolling off the table. "Good enough," I say to Mellark as I put the safety back on my gun and sling it over my shoulder. "I was off a little," I grin at his slack jaw.

"We all make mistakes," he says, throwing his arm over my shoulder. I don't shy away from the gesture, since he seems friendly enough.

The people at our post seem relieved to leave. Apparently there had been a sniper located in the mountains. _Wonderful…_

Our patrol turns into a tour as Peeta shows me the makeshift hospital, the mess hall, and a basketball court covered in a thick layer of sand.

"We had a dust storm not too long ago,” he explains. “No one ever bothered to sweep it off because it'll just get covered again." There are a few shirtless men shooting from the outer circle, every bounce of the ball kicking up dust.

I take a sip from my canteen and offer some to Peeta, but he brushes it off. "Listen, I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable earlier, you know…" We've stopped walking; this is our post until we have to patrol the perimeter again.

"Don't. Because you're right, I eat like I'll never see food again because I knew if I didn't find it, kill it, or grow it myself, I wasn't getting any because my flighty mother shut off after my pops…" I stop myself and kick up some dust. "So… Marine? I thought you would go straight to a big school and make your Mom and Dad proud…" I ask, trying to change the subject.

He shrugs, drinking from his own canteen now. "By the time my brothers went through, Mom and Dad were out of funds. So I joined up figuring it was peace time; that they wouldn't send me anywhere bad. I always kind of wanted to serve my country. Then nine eleven happened and I basically begged to be sent to Afghanistan…" he finishes and pulls out two meal bars. They're supposed to taste like chocolate and contain enough calories to be a meal, but have a chalky texture. Peeta hands one to me and tears into the other. "That was my first tour. When I came home, Mom and Dad looked at me like I was a stranger. Their innocent little boy had gone off to war," he says and chews on his nail. "I stayed with them for a few months before being sent here and I've been here ever since." I nod.

"You?" he asks.

"I want to make my Dad proud…" I start, chewing methodically on my bar. "Mom nearly went grey when I told her. She thinks I'm going to have the same fate as her husband…" I say, laughing a little. "Prim's graduating high school soon, though we keep moving her around; first from Pennsylvania to Maryland, and now North Carolina." I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

"So you're the man of the house?" he jokes, nudging me a little.

"Sure, I guess so…" I say, brushing some hair behind my ear. "So what about you?  Is there any special lady waiting for you back home?"

He lets out a short laugh, washing the dense bar down with more water. "Yeah, there was this one girl. I’ve had my eye on her since the first day of school when we were five. Sang like a songbird… but I was too scared to make friends with her. When she got older, everyone assumed she had a guy," he shrugs. "So I left her alone, still too afraid to talk to her.  Oh well," he shrugs again and spits on the ground.

"When you get back, you should call her. Every girl loves a Marine!"

He laughs and nudges me again, "I'll think about it, Everdeen…"


	3. Push Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own The Hunger Games.

**Chapter 3 – Push Yourself**

Peeta and I stand in front of the obstacle course. "When was the last time you ran one of these?" he teases. Non-deployables are notorious for being soft in this particular aspect.

"Like… two years ago?" I smirk. We were relieved fifteen minutes early by Gale and a foxy-like redhead from his battalion, so we had about a half hour to bullshit before the rest of the 74th arrived. "Come on, I can't get shown up by these guys, we'll run partners," I suggest. This means we can't move to the next challenge until the partner is ready. Times are always a little slower, but it teaches people to rely on someone else.

"Ready?" I ask, setting my watch. We might as well time this officially. "Go!"

We run forward. The first obstacle is the tires, stereotypically easy for someone like myself with small feet, though Peeta somehow manages to beat me through it.

"Cheater!" I laugh before diving into the dirt to crawl under the wire. The first time I did this it was full of mud, but now it's just hard sand. He beats me again and offers his hand to pull me up from off the ground.

Because of my size and lack of stocky muscle, the bars are where I can gain an advantage over Peeta, but only by a few seconds. The only major challenge is a slightly slanted wood wall with no rope, it's SUPPOSED to be down.

I get down on my knees and cup my hands, "I'll break your-" he starts.

"Shut up and go, then lift me up!" I scold. His weight hurts on my knee, but I can deal. He lifts himself to the top and leans down for my hand, lifting me like a rag doll before dropping down once I'm situated.

"Jump! I'll catch you!" he yells.

 _1… 2… 3…_ I throw myself from the device and soon find myself in strong arms. We probably linger there a moment too long. "I- Sorry!"

Peeta sets me on my feet and we're off to a similar obstacle with ropes. My lack of strength and his weight even this one out. After we lower ourselves down there, it's just a one hundred yard dash to the finish. Since this isn't a race, we keep pace with each other, one pulling ahead with the other catching up.

There's already a thin layer of sweat on my brow as we cross the finish line, and our battalion has already gathered to watch.

"Six minutes," I tell him, stopping my watch. "Gonna have to up your game, Mellark," I elbow him playfully.

"It’s your short legs, Everdeen," he says, pushing back. I'm about a head shorter than him, but years of track, the only sport I participated in, have made me fast. It's probably the good minute he was cradling me that slowed us down.

I clap my hands together, rubbing some dust off them. "Alright, we're going to jog the perimeter, nothing too strenuous, everyone line up!"

Peeta is the second highest in rank. After his next physical test, he will most likely be promoted to Sergeant. We run in two rows - the two of us in front, Cato and Clove behind us, followed by Marvel and Glimmer. I don't know the rest, but they all fall into neat lines, not second guessing my actions, my commands, or my pace.

Everyone is still groggy at this hour, even me, but I push on. When we get back to the course, I crouch on the ground. "Warm-ups aren't over, did you think I'd go easy on you?" I'm so good at making friends, "Come on, drop and we'll do twenty!"

I had learned a cool trick in Basic… push-ups with one hand. I think everyone expected me to drop to my knees. "One!" My battalion follows suit with no one else daring to go one handed, not even Cato. "Two!" We go slowly. On each dip close to the dirt, I can see my breath kicking up dust but continue until we reach twenty.

"Alright, shake out those wrists. You're going to have a little break now. Get a drink, you all need it," I order, wiping my brow. Though it's only about eight in the morning, the temperature is easily seventy five degrees and will only get hotter.

Cato and Marvel are the first ones in line for the obstacle course, thinking they'll breeze through and get off early. "You'll all do it twice, once with myself, once as a battalion. You're all very cliquey, and unless you want to spend the rest of your time here on guard duty, or cleaning guns for  _actual_  divisions, you're going to have to get over that juvenile train of thought."

I stretch my arms and steal a glance at Peeta, his concerned eyes meeting mine. I'm running PT in the climbing Iraq heat, and will be running the course at least ten times for the rest of my division.

"Cato, since you're so eager…" I say, then notice something. "Too eager to put on your bulletproof vest?"

"Don't wear Kevlar for PT…  _Sarge_ ," he retorts.

I cross my arms. "I'll tell those snipers in the hills that," I say, pointing off in the distance. "That's only about one thousand yards, doesn't take much training to make a shot like that." He sneers at me as I take off my jacket, feeling no need to overheat myself too soon.

"Here," I turn, handing Peeta my watch. "Person with the best time doesn't get overnight duty!" I'm already planning on saving that patrol for myself and Peeta, since it's quiet and calm then, not to mention cool.

"Ready?" I ask, and Cato nods. "Go!"

Everything goes swimmingly. Much to my surprise, he manages to wait for me whenever I fall behind. When we get to the wooden wall and kneel, he groans.

"You can't be quitting, seriously?" he sounds so condescending as I place my hands on my knee like I did for Peeta.

"Put your foot here, pull yourself up, then pull me up," I hiss. "Clock’s ticking!" He hesitates for a second before putting his weight on my knee, then pulling me up like a rag doll. Without hesitation, he jumps off.

"Oof!" I groan, feeling a warm sensation in my right ankle. I press on, ignoring it, and soon enough, it goes away. After I run through Cato, Clove, Glimmer, Marvel, Cresta, and the largest man I've ever seen, Thresh, I find that my limp is noticeable. A firm hand pulls me off to the side.

"You're hurt," Peeta whispers, though I pull away.

"I'm fine," I reply and rest my weight on my bad ankle, "See?" I try not to let my face betray me, but soon it's contorted in pain.

"Go get it looked at, I can take it from-"

"No, Peeta, you don't understand,” I say, interrupting him. “They look at me like I'm a piece of meat. If I limp off with my tail between my legs, they'll never respect me and we'll be sitting here on this base until we're sent home. Don't you want to see Rue again?" I know which buttons to press to get him to stop bothering me. That little girl in Fallujah is definitely one of them.

"Katniss…" he starts. There he goes with that damn concern again.

"It's just one more run, then I'll get off it…" I promise, though I can't look him in the eyes. Just off in the distance, the air is hot and dry. I want nothing more than to strip down and find water to roll in, but I can't, at least not yet.

"Fine…" he hisses through gritted teeth.

When we run as a group, Peeta and I keep up the rear. Thresh and Cresta set the pace seeing as they had the two best times. Thresh, though last, was the winner, mostly because he was strong enough to carry me over the two climbing obstacles like a sack of flour.

When I reach the top of the ropeless wall, Peeta looks up at me, "I'll catch you!" he promises again. I trust him, though I should probably be more apprehensive.  If I land on my ankle wrong again, though, I probably won’t be getting back up.

I don't linger in his arms, instead flailing out and running to the next obstacle. _I won't rely on him,_ I tell myself. I can do this, I'm strong.

My legs feel like jell-o as we walk into breakfast. Despite my speech, the tired and sweaty 74th still divides into their cliques. I go to sit alone, but Peeta follows me. "You promised you'd get off your ankle," he reminds me as I sit down.

"Breakfast first, then shower, then I'll sleep it off…” I say. “You should, too, since we have guard duty overnight again…"

I push my "eggs" around with my fork, "Ah yeah, best shift of the day," he remarks and I look up at him. Normally, people don't want to offset their sleep schedule like that, but he's completely serious. "There's not a lot of light pollution out here… did you notice the stars last night?"

I shrug. To be honest, all I was looking at was him, a blush finding my cheeks. "Everdeen, you're flushed, drink more water," he commands, handing me his canteen which I slowly from. After a workout like that, too much water can result in projectile vomiting. "You are  _not_  doing that again."

I shrug at his warning tone, "Says who? I outrank you… I-"

Our voices are hushed, but still it seems like the room is trying to overhear our soon-to-be argument. "Katniss, rank only means so much, especially when someone's running themselves to death just to prove they're not weak,” he implores. “Even the strongest of us ask for help from time to time. Let me help you…"

I would have hit him if I had the energy, or at least stormed off. Instead I sit there, exhausted and fuming. He’s right - well, kind of. "Fine, you can help with PT…" I grumble, after all, he is my second in charge. I take out of my braid and run my fingers through my dirty hair.

I shovel the rest of my food in my mouth and guzzle some more water. "Remember the schedule I gave you?"

"Mhm?" he questions.

"Add vomiting to that," I can feel my stomach gurgling. I calmly throw out my trash and find my way to the nearest ladies room… which is in the barracks.

The bathroom is empty as I expected, with most everyone at breakfast. I barely make it to the toilet before my food and the gallon of water I had chugged come up. I'm still in my vest, making it impossible to get a good breath of air. Gasping and heaving at the same time has to be one of the scariest combinations of bodily functions in the world. As I fumble for the Velcro, I feel it being ripped from my body and my hair removed from my face. I don't question this at all; my only concern being expelling the rest of my breakfast from my body and sitting on the cool bathroom floor. Afterwards, I wipe my mouth on a piece of toilet paper.

Shame is the first thing I feel upon seeing Peeta's concerned face. "See?" he asks. It's as good as him telling me, ‘I told you so’. His strong hand rubs the sweaty nape of my neck.

"How can you touch me? I'm filthy…"

He just shrugs and smiles, "Then get a shower, and go to bed." I feel like a child. First the ankle, now the vomiting… couldn’t the odds be in my favor for once?

"I brought your toothbrush… I hope you don't mind me going into your room, figured…"

I put a finger to his lips just to shut him up. "Thanks, Mellark. Maybe you should be the Sergeant…" I put my head between my knees, his hands rubbing my back.

"Well… I have my exam in two weeks, but I won't be a staff, just regular… if I pass," I can tell he's smiling, though I'm not sure how.

"You help me survive this week, and I'll make sure you pass that damn test." I promise and put my hand on his shoulder, attempting to shake him a little but only managing to topple myself onto him.

I don't know if it's the heat or what, but I let myself linger for a second too long. "I…" he stands up, hauling me to my feet. "I'd better head to bed. See you tonight." I nod as he rushes out of the ladies room off to his own barracks.

Bed, that's what I need. I don't even bother to check my computer or get dressed. I flop onto my bed, pull the sheets up to my neck and let everything go black. At 1500, there's banging at my door. "Ugh… Can't they take care of themselves for five minutes?" I question to the wall, getting up and realizing I'm still naked. I pull on a grey t-shirt and sweat shorts before answering the door.

"Ravishing, as always," Major Abernathy smirks. I fidget, realizing that my shorts are too short, shirt too loose… combined with the lack of a bra.

"Sorry, sir, I was grabbing some shut-eye before patrol tonight," I say as he glances at my living space. He isn’t inspecting - just getting a feel for it, a feel for me.

"I was watching your PT today… Impressive…" he remarks, picking up the picture of Prim from my helmet. "I've never seen a more dedicated Sergeant, especially after one day. Cute kid, is she yours?"

"No, my little sister," I laugh and snatch the photo from him. It's more precious to me than my rifle… and I really love my rifle.

"We've decided to move up Corporal Mellark's Sergeant test, not because you can't handle them-"

I cut him off, "He deserves it, sir. If there's anything I can do to help him, I will." I see the old man's eyes light up.

"Eager like your old man…" he chuckles. "It's his dreamy eyes, isn't it?" I groan at him, sitting down on my bed. "You're going to have to move him off guard duty. And with that ankle of yours, I wouldn't bother going out there. We've rescheduled for the next few days." I glance down at my foot - it's now turned black and blue with a twinge of green.

"Aw, come on!" I say to my foot, while the Major only seems to grow more and more enthused.

"Let the Corporal run PT for the next few days while you heal. We can always use it as his Sergeant's test," he suggests, which is very unorthodox. I can't tell if he's joking or not. Maybe it's something in his lively eyes, or maybe the small smile playing on his lips. But for some reason, I just know he isn't.

"The sooner you cooperate with my orders, the sooner you'll actually get off the ground and start doing something, Everdeen. You've been relieved from guard duty and PT, though I expect to see you on the range. Major Odair and I both expect Mellark's score to be exceptional," he says, closing the door.

After Major Abernathy leaves, I get on my computer. My mother has emailed pictures of our new house, telling me my room would be waiting when I came home. They got a deal on a house that was in foreclosure with two bedrooms more than we actually need.  Space for guests, I imagine…

All of a sudden something pops up on my screen. Prim is calling me though Skype. My heart skipps a beat, knowing I'll be able to talk to her, hear her voice, and actually see her face.

"Hey, little duck!" I greet, feeling at ease for the first time in a few days.

There's a few seconds of lag, but she smiles back. "Katniss! How is it? Is it hot?"

"A little… excited for the move?" I ask hopefully.

She rolls her eyes, "Not really, I'm hoping this one is more permanent…"

"It should be, at least until you graduate high school." I debate whether or not to tell her about Peeta, not wanting to keep Prim away from her day. It's Saturday, after all.

"How's Mom?" I finally ask.

"Cleaning  _everything_. She doesn't stop moving until she passes out. I think she's afraid… but she's sleeping now so…" Prim shrugs. I hear my door open and close, but no footsteps.

"Hey, Gale," I watch him approach on camera, my eyes not leaving the screen.

"Prim! Look at you! I bet you have all the guys going after you now!" he exclaims.

"No! No guys, Prim!" I shake a finger.

"Rory lives in Jacksonville with your Mom, right?" she asks. Gale chuckles and nods, knowing about her crush on his younger brother since grade school.

"Damn you, Gale!" I shake my fist and push him away, shifting on my ankle and wincing a little.

"Katniss!" Prim gasps. "What happened?"

"It's fine, Prim, just a sprained ankle. I'll be up and running in no time. If Gale has nothing better to do, he should take me to get it wrapped." I knew this information would alleviate Prim's stress over such a minor injury.

"I'll let you go,” she says. “I love you, Katniss."

I smile, "I love you, too, Prim. Tell Mom I'm safe and good luck with the move. I can't wait to see the house!"

After I close my computer, a dark piece of fabric hits me in the face, my sports bra. "Don't think you want to go out there without one,” he admonishes. “You've already caught the attention of  _every_  man on this base. Though… only like three-quarters of them want to bend you over and-"

"Gale!" I hiss. He turns around as I lift my shirt up to hook the bra in the back. "I don't need to hear about that!" I say, applying deodorant. I pull my shirt down and put on the only other pair of shoes I brought to Iraq, well-worn sneakers that won't put too much pressure on my ankle.

"Ready, Catnip?" he asks, his back still to me.

"You can turn around, don't know why you bother… you've seen me naked before," I tease. We don't talk much about the few times we were intimate, but they still happened.

"Yeah, just giving you some space, come on." He wraps his arm around my waist as I hold on to the shoulder farthest from me for support. I attempt to walk as naturally as possible. Since the Marine Corps doesn't have medics, any doctor, nurse, or field medic we have are on loan from the Navy. For the most part, we’re all trained on how to keep each other alive. For us, step one is to apply a tourniquet or Quikclot, a magical powder bored Marines like to play with because of how hot it gets. It's better than playing with explosives, I guess?

The woman looks at my ankle. "It's not bad. You should be able to get back to your routine by next week." I groan in reply, that's far too long. The nurse carefully wraps my foot and ankle in a tight Ace bandage after including a splint. The support alleviates a lot of the pain, so maybe I can get back by tomorrow…I'd just have to rest tonight. "Here's an icepack. Come back for a new one whenever it gets warm. For tonight, keep it elevated and no running on it!" she scolds as I put my sneakers back on. I’m given some aspirin for the pain, which I dry swallow.

"I'm starved," I tell Gale, the smell of dinner wafting through the warm halls.

"Yeah, you're looking a little thin…" he says, squeezing my side, which almost sends me toppling over.

My dinner consists of another Tabasco-covered random protein, veg and carb tray, just like every meal I pick at. I empty the small bottle on my food while Gale takes off his jacket and vest. "Any idea when you'll get out in the city?" he asks, shoveling food in his mouth like a proper gentleman.

"Not for at least two weeks… We're  _team building_ ," I sigh. "Also, Corporal Mellark is hopefully going to become Sergeant Mellark in seven days, which will give me more time up in a post instead of on the ground like a sitting duck…"

"You’ve never liked being on the ground… probably why you spent all of our winter breaks up in your tree stand," he teases.

"Hey!" I point my fork at him, "We ate like kings those winters."

He chuckles in reply. "So... if you're getting a second Sarge, does that mean you're going for Gunnery?"

Gunnery Sergeant is the rank above Staff Sergeant. I make a face that earns another chuckle and go back to my food. "Maybe by the time you leave, you'll be Master Sergeant Katniss Everdeen," he jokes with a mouthful of food.

"And you'll be a five star General…" I retort, pushing my hot sauce covered potatoes around on my plate. "I think I'm done with propos. I just want to do my job, not climb the corporate ladder." I clean my plate with my finger today, not bothering to act like a lady. "Could you show me to Mellark's room? I'm not sure if the Major told him about our… situation."

" _Situation?”_ Gale balks, raising his eyebrows. “Katniss, you just met the guy… well…" he crosses his arms over his chest, going into ‘older brother mode’.

"They pulled me from guard because of my ankle, and him because they want him to score high on his Sergeant test," I shrug.

"They?"

"Odair and Abernathy." I can see Gale drooping, dark circles under his eyes. "Come on, show me to his room and go to bed." I stand, tapping the back of my hand against his shoulder.

When we get to Peeta's room, I knock lightly. Gale left me so he could go to bed and I'm getting stares from men in the hall. Maybe Peeta has a lot of female guests in his room?

I know I have permission to barge into his room given my rank, but I respect him enough to wait for him to answer the door.

"H-hi," I say, my breath catching in my throat.  I squeeze the frozen icepack in my hand, which resists the pressure from my fingers.  I stand there, gawking at his muscular chest for much longer than I should before he pulls me into his room.

Someone whistles, another one tells him to ‘give it to her good’.

"Shut the hell up, Jackson," Peeta barks and closes the door behind us. I stand there, completely unable to speak as Corporal Mellark stands in front of me, clad in only a pair of sweat shorts.

"Something the matter, Katniss?" he asks, putting on a shirt and breaking my trance. "Here, sit down." He pats his bed, which is immaculate. I can feel myself blushing as I lower myself onto the bed, placing the icepack on my ankle.

"Did the Major come by?" I ask, itching at my leg a little where the bandage is chafing.

"Naw, should he have?" he replies, browsing his computer and not bothering to look at me.

"Yeah, probably.  I was removed from guard duty tonight… and every night until I can stand on this." I lift my ankle a little, wincing now that the throbbing has started again.

"You should have stopped this morning when I told you," he says sternly, still not looking at me.

"You're off guard duty as well. Major Abernathy and Major Odair want you to spend the next few days working on your test to make Sergeant, as well as running PT."

He smirks in reply, finally looking in my direction. "Isn't that your job?"

"Yeah, but I'm disabled. I can watch and critique, but you're the one being tested. I think they figure if we have a Sergeant on the ground, I can be up in a sniper’s post. They  _really_  want you to pass."

He chews at his thumbnail a little. "So you got them to push up my test so you could spend twelve hours sitting on a bucket waiting for something to shoot?"

"No, that's just the payment I get for helping you. If I keep off this tonight, I should be up and running tomorrow morning anyway. I-"

He cuts me off, "Let me look at it." I try to pull my injured ankle in, but he's already on the bed, sitting with my bad foot in his lap. He removes my sneaker with expert care, followed by the bandage. "Well, it's not swollen… but it's bruised pretty badly. You shouldn't be running the obstacle course on this," I bite my lip as his fingers feel along the worst part of the bruising. "But you're going to try anyway, no matter what I think," he says with a defeated sigh. _Good, he's learning._

"Maybe… Major Abernathy told me he'd be watching. I don't want him to demote me because I can't follow directions…" I watch him wrap my ankle again and put the icepack back on it. We sit there in silence for a few minutes. "We should probably get started,” I say. “You can pass the physical part with your eyes closed." On his bedside table are the heavy workbooks on the history of the USMC, along with every other fun factoid he'll need to know in order to become Sergeant.

Because Peeta and I had slept through the day, we stay up until sunrise, only studying for a few hours. We sit there talking about when we were kids, though we never really interacted. We find out that we were pretty much in the same classes from the time we were five up until middle school. I keep my foot in his lap until the ice pack gets warm and the pain pills wear off.  

He's telling me about wrestling. "Yeah, you came in second to your brother your junior year," I recall as the memory emerges from my mind.

_I had just gotten off track practice. The only person I ever considered my friend besides Gale, Madge Undersee, came up to me. She was the Mayor's daughter, and had a fair amount of friends, giving me a good hand of acquaintances. I'd always be that weird girl that would rather be out hunting, though._

" _Aw come on, you know you want to go," she said. I was sitting on a wooden bench in the women's locker room, braiding my hair. Most days I'd be out in the woods hunting after practice, but Gale had detention. I didn't really like going into the woods alone, especially with the mountain lions and bears around. We saw one two days ago from afar and turned right around. You didn't mess with a full sized black bear._

_Gale made me promise not to go in the woods without him. I was sixteen and he was seventeen. We were experimenting with dating, so he was ten times more protective than normal._

" _Fine… but you owe me," I said. She was trying to get me to be friendly with her other friends; the blonde-haired, blue-eyed merchant girls from the richer part of town. I stuck out like a sore thumb with my black hair and dark skin. Each and every one of them looked at me as though I was an outsider in my hunting boots, flannel shirt and well-worn jeans. I idly watched each of the matches until the end, two blonde boys. They were both about the same size. I recognized one of them as Peeta Mellark. The other must have been his older brother, Ryan._

_This was the only match I watched intently. When it looked as though Peeta would win, he looked up into the crowd towards me. Our eyes locked for two seconds too long and Ryan flipped him over._

"You lost because of me," I claim, leaning my head back against the wall.

Peeta just shrugs and smiles. "Doesn't matter now, the past is the past. Now come on, we have half an hour before we need to be outside and you're going to take forever to get ready." He puts my shoe back on and helps me to my feet.

"Why, because I'm a woman?"

"No, because of your ankle…" he remarks, looking around, "I have to take my shorts off. You might want to turn around; it's not very professional for you to gawk at me again," I lean forward, trying to take a swing at him before he gingerly throws me onto his bed so I’m facing down.

"Would you stop trying to hit me and let me get ready?"


	4. Calm Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own The Hunger Games.

**Chapter 4 – Calm Before The Storm**

Peeta and I fall into an almost comfortable pattern. At 0700, we'd have PT followed by breakfast, then sleep until about 1500. Upon waking, we go to the firing range. Peeta is an impressive shot at close range, so I only had to help him with anything above 250 yards. At 1900, we usually eat dinner together. He tries to teach me Arabic, while I teach him about calculating aim based on wind humidity and time of day. Both are equally complicated subjects.

We have one more night before his Sergeant test, but end up back on guard duty between 2300 and 0700. "You've really helped the division…" I smile a little. In just a week, he got them working as a team, something I probably couldn't do. This frustrates me, but I'm genuinely happy for my friend.

"They're sick of being on base,” he says. “Rumor has it we could be out in three days." We divert only slightly from our path away from the lights of the base. "Look up," he says, pointing at the sky.

"How did I not notice this the first time?" I ask, gawking at the thousands upon thousands of stars and the trails of dust from the Milky Way.

"When people first get here, they tend to keep their heads down. It's not until you're comfortable that you can lift your head up and enjoy the subtle beauty of the place," he remarks, taking a drink.

"So you have a weakness for beautiful things?" I tease as we get back on our path. The gate creaks open and the convoy that had gone out to get the latest air drop of precious supplies is returning safely.

"I wouldn't call it a weakness… just an eye for them."

I smile again. It's refreshing to know someone still has a positive outlook on life, even when more and more people are returning to the States in flag draped coffins. We haven't lost a man since I arrived here, which has led to a cocky feeling coming over Camp Dreamland.

I find it easy to talk to Peeta about basically anything, even our silences are comfortable. We canceled PT for the next morning, much to 74th's relief. I have a meeting at Command, and Peeta’s exam is scheduled for 0800.

We turn in our weapons and head to breakfast as soon as we're relieved from duty. "Any idea what the meeting's about?" he asks, tearing into a piece of bacon.

I take a sip of my coffee, which is basically milk with a brownish tint. "Hopefully them telling me that we'll be going to Fallujah," I say, downing the rest and setting down the paper cup. "You nervous at all?" I ask, picking at my now cold food.  Temperature doesn't matter; I’ll just add more pepper and hot sauce.

"Nah, they gave me a pretty good teacher," he winks, which I return with a small smile.

It's only Majors Abernathy and Odair when I arrive in Command today. They're writing on the map covering the wooden table. "Took you long enough," Abernathy grumbles, looking at the clock. I'm five minutes early.

"Sorry, I had to see my Corporal off to his Sarge exam, sirs," I explain, taking the seat closest to the map.

"We're sending you to Fallujah tomorrow morning," Abernathy says as I nearly choke on my water. That’s not a lot of time to prepare! "You and Private Marvel will rotate six on, six off in the sniper’s nest located here," he circles a building not too far into the city. "We've secured the area to the north of the post, but have had activity here…" he points, drawing X's on three buildings about 1000 yards away from the post, "Here… and here. Your division will be patrolling this sector," he indicates, squaring off a few blocks. "Major Odair and I will be between your sector and the one next to it," he chews on the pen methodically, threatening to break it as I take in all the information. "We leave at 0700, and return at 1500 when the next division comes to relieve us. This routine will be repeated until further notice. Any questions, Sergeant Everdeen?"

I shake my head no. "Good,” Odair nods. “Your division will be back here at 1000 to receive their briefing. Head over to the armory now and make sure everything's right with your weapon. I heard they messed up your scope pretty good," he says, smirking.

"Yeah, they seem to forget that some of us have breasts," I motion to the lumps of flesh on my chest and his green eyes light up as he laughs.

"On the other side of the base, there's a range to accommodate long range shooting. We want to see kill zones and nothing less." I nod in confirmation. "You're dismissed, Everdeen."

I stand up and salute them. "Thank you, sirs." I'm going into combat… tomorrow.

Do I tell Prim? Would it scare her? I don't want to worry her…

I'm given my baby for the first time since arriving here. She's still in her case and hopefully still adjusted perfectly. I take an armful of targets and make the long trek across the base. I hear the whispers as I walk, my long black case in tow. Apparently, my reputation precedes me.

"Where are you going with that, Catnip?" Gale asks as I pass his post.

"Target practice!" I shout, waving the handful of paper targets in the air. The longest sniper shot is just over eight thousand feet. I'll probably never achieve that distance, especially since the range only goes 1000 yards. At that distance, there are permanent targets… or at least whole ones that no one has bothered to shoot at. I walk about halfway down the range and begin setting up targets on the hanging wires. I set some up close together, writing "CIV" for civilian in black marker. Once my papers are all in position, I turn around, noticing a small crowd has gathered to watch.

Ignoring them, I set up my rifle, propping it up on its front legs and taking my position on the table. Thankfully, nothing has been tampered with on my rifle. My heart sings as I take the first shot at about 1000 yards, hitting the kill zone perfectly, right on the X in the center. We rarely go for the chests, so I adjust my aim slightly. My next shot hits the head, so I adjust again to hit a closer target barely visible behind a "CIV". Normally, I'm in complete isolation while doing something like this. Now people are whispering, betting money and cigarettes that I won't hit the next one.

" _One shot, one kill,"_ I think to myself, as yet another target feels my bullet.

I empty my magazine into the targets before sitting up, satisfied with my own performance. "Did  _anyone_  bet in my favor?"  I ask. There's a murmur, and I roll my eyes while packing up my gun. "Men…" I sigh. They'd be betting in my favor next time, that's for sure. All of them were fixated on the targets, each with a single shot to the head. Call me strange, but  _that_  is beauty right there.

I return my rifle after locking the case, rushing back to Command. The last to arrive, even though it's still five of, I take the last available seat between Cato and Marvel. "Punctual as always," Abernathy mutters.

"Sorry, sir, got caught up at the firing range," I say. Odair nods and slaps down a pile of fives and ones.

"You're good. I took a chance betting on you and it paid off," he smiles, fanning the bills as I sink down in my chair. "I now have enough smokes now to give a whale cancer," he shrugs.

"Are you finished?" Abernathy asks without looking up, concentrating on the map.

"Would  _you_  like a smoke, Haymitch? You've been on edge since we got here," Odair teases. We all just sit in silence; we could never talk to Abernathy like that without there being repercussions.

If looks could kill, Major Finnick Odair would be dead on the ground. "I'm sorry, some of our wives are back in the States eight months pregnant with our third child. Now, before we get too  _distracted_ , we have a new Sergeant. I just got word that Corporal Peeta Mellark passed with flying colors. No thanks to you, sweetheart," he says, smirking. I know he's teasing, but at that moment, his 'sweetheart' seems like the most thoughtfully condescending thing ever said.

"And thanks to your exemplary performance in the last week, as reported by Staff Sergeant Everdeen, we've decided to send you back to Fallujah starting tomorrow at 0700." I begin tuning out as my battalion cheers and pats each other on back.

"Marvel and Everdeen will switch between four hour shifts up in the nest, her first. You'll be out there for twelve hours, so three for her, one for you, boy." This seems to disgruntle Marvel.

Everyone but Peeta and I are dismissed shortly after the meeting. Naturally, we have to stay behind to work out the logistics.

"We'll have Cato and Clove posted here… Marvel and Everdeen up here, whoever’s not in that post will be with Mellark, Glimmer and Cresta here… Thresh will be coming with us as well." It all seems so simple, like a game of chess.

Once we're dismissed, Peeta and I grab an early lunch, but he seems uneasy. "Everything okay?" I ask, using my teeth to open my hot sauce. I definitely use more of the stuff than anyone else.

"Did you see how eager everyone was to get onto the battlefield? It's like they're looking for a fight," he says, clearly worried about civilian casualties, as anyone would be. "Go through the hardest training known to man… and they're like… thirsting for blood. They weren't like this before we lost like half the division…" he sighs, idly eating. "I’m just worried someone will do something stupid, you know?"

I nod, having finished my food and now playing with the end of my braid. Since we are going into combat tomorrow, I'll have to actually follow regulation and put it in a bun. "Hopefully, they're smart enough to do what's right," I say; honestly, that's all we can ask for.

I spend the remainder of the day lying in bed and staring at the celling. Sleep doesn't come to me until after dinner. Gale and I ate together in an uncomfortable silence. He's going into Fallujah tomorrow as well, being part of Major Odair's company.

"General Paylor is apparently visiting in a few weeks…" I twist the pasta on my fork, staring at it intently as Gale speaks about the four-star General visiting Dreamland soon. He has apparently met her once and thinks she'll go far. "She's General Coin's right hand… and left as well, I think." I respond to his comments by putting my fork in my mouth and slurping loudly.

"Catnip, are you listening to me at all?"

"Something about Coin and Paylor and someone visiting?" I shrug, drinking my water as he rolls his eyes at me. "Have you told Prim yet?" Ugh, how does he know…?

"No, she doesn't need to be worried, and neither does my Mom. They already have enough going on without worrying about me over here," I wipe the sauce from my lips and stand up. "I'm going to try and go to bed now…"

I'm not done eating, but at this point, I'm so tired I can barely stand. I throw my door open and shut it as best I can. I fall on my bed, sleep immediately enveloping me.

"Too soon…" I grumble at suddenly being shaken awake. I'm absolutely exhausted.

"Katniss…" the person called as I tried to roll over. My alarm wasn't going off, "Katniss!"

The urgency of the voice jerked me awake. "Prim!" I call. No, it's not Prim's voice at all. Opening my steel grey eyes, I met the concerned blue eyes of Sergeant Mellark. "Peeta? Why are you in my room?" I ask, rubbing my tired eyes.

"I should be asking you the same thing," he smirks as my stomach sinks. My tired brain, so used to coming to Peeta's room after dinner, drug me here where I apparently fell asleep on his bed for… three hours?

I smack his side, although not hard. "How long have you been here?"

He smirks, "A few hours. I checked my e-mail, packed my vest, and wrapped my present for Rue."

My jaw drops. "Why didn't you wake me up?" I ask.

He sits down on the bed next to me, brushing a few strands of hair from my face. I look away quickly to hide my blush. "You're kind of cute when you sleep,” he compliments. “You don't scowl… improves your looks a lot." Even though I can’t see his face, I know he’s smiling. I turn and look back, giving him the best scowl I can muster, which turns his smile into a grin.

I groan and fall backwards. "If I leave now, they'll think we slept together. If I leave in the morning, they'll think we slept together," I moan as I roll over and face the wall.

"What, too good for me?" he teases, squeezing my side and laughing when I begin to flail around. I've never felt something more ticklish in my life. "And what's the big deal anyways? You've been in here _every night_  for the last week with the door closed…" I can feel him playing with my braid. After a few minutes, he pulls off the band and begins unbraiding my hair. I'll admit, his fingers feel amazing running through my brown locks.

"If they think we're together, they'll separate us," I yawn, hugging myself.

"If you want, I can walk you back to your room and show you how to set up your vest," he offers. I roll over and give him yet another scowl. This is something they taught us barely a week after training began. "I do need to sleep, you know. So if you don't decide what you're doing in the next minute, I'm laying down and you can deal with it."

I want to get up, but I'm tired and comfortable. _This is so unprofessional…_

"Fine by me," he says, unlacing my boots and throwing them to the ground. I hold my breath as he lays down, his back facing me.

I shared a bed with Gale once before, just before we left for Basic. We were so nervous, so I slept at his house. This is the same, right?

I fall asleep almost instantly, pressed up against the cool wall as Peeta snores quietly beside me. We wake each other up several times, one of us either grabbing at the other curiously or accidently smacking the other in the face.

"This isn't working…" Peeta yawns, rubbing his eyes. It's around 0130 or so. I'm barely awake, so what happens next seems perfectly logical. "Come here…" he whispers, sliding an arm under me and pulling me to him so I can use his chest as a pillow.

His heartbeat is strong and even, and somehow we start breathing in unison. I must admit, it's the most peaceful night of sleep I've gotten since coming to Iraq.


	5. Rue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own The Hunger Games

**Chapter 5 – Rue**   
  


Calm…that's what I feel as I'm woken up by the buzzing of an alarm.

 _Wait… What's this?_  My pillow is moving… and making a thumping noise. I lift my head, my eyes meeting with the equally confused eyes of Peeta Mellark.

 _Oh god, it wasn't a dream!_ I jump over him rather comically, tripping over my own boots and falling to the floor. "Motherfucker!" I hiss.  _Smooth as always, Katniss…_

Peeta has since rolled onto his side and is waiting for my next move, a small smile playing on his lips. _How did I let this happen, how?_

I sit on the vacant bed that would be used for a roommate, should Peeta be assigned one, putting on my boots and sloppily tying the laces. "I'm so sorry, I don't normally do this. This is so unlike me," I blurt out all in one breath. I try working my hair into a braid, but my hands are too shaky so I give up.

"Katniss!" he says, sitting up quickly. "You just slept here, nothing happened," I turn on his light and look at myself in the mirror.

"I have sex hair," I groan, trying to fix it. He doesn't have a brush, of course. Why would a male Marine need a brush?

" _Sex hair,_ " he repeats several times. "Then either I have amnesia or you have really good sex dreams!" I glare at him, which makes him put his hands up defensively. "Kidding Everdeen, kidding… I think I have…" he stands, opening a drawer, "A comb somewhere here to get rid of your  _sex hair_." He hands me a black comb which I start working through my hair. Next thing I know, he approaches me from behind and starts braiding it absently.

"Stop!" I exclaim, putting my hand up while turning to see his confused face. His actions are completely platonic, I can see it in his eyes. But even still, I can't bring myself to let him in. "I can do it myself, Peeta, I just…" I stammer, straightening out my shirt. "I'll see you at the armory, okay? Oh, and get a haircut, Sergeant," I order, trying to assert my power before running out of the room. I make a beeline straight for the mess hall, eating breakfast quickly. Some of my battalion is already here, giving me strange looks as I rush through my food and coffee. I always eat breakfast with Peeta, generally appearing relaxed.

 _Act normal_ , I try to tell myself. I look at my untucked shirt and the cuffs of my pants, one tucked in, one not. I look like a girl who just rolled out of bed with a man. It's true, though it was completely platonic… right?

I manage to find my way back to my room, making sure it's actually _my_  room before wondering what just happened.

 _Sure, he's attractive, Katniss… and you’ve had your eye on him since you were kids. But he deserves a girl who's not going to be unreachable on dangerous missions for days at a time. He deserves a civilian,_ I remind myself. Maybe that's one of the reasons I’ve pushed my childhood crush on him out of my mind for so long.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth and wash my face.

I suddenly remember my notebook from the sixth grade; I had written his name in the front cover.

"Oh God dammit!" I hiss. Now everything is going to be awkward between us! Me with my childhood crush now in the front of my mind, and him confused as hell at my batshit crazy behavior.

 _It's for the best, really. He should have a civilian woman waiting for him when he comes home. Not someone like you,_ I tell my reflection as I pin my hair into a tight bun and affix any loose strands.

I have forty five minutes until departure. I use every second making sure I have everything I need in my vest and belt. I know I’ll be given a radio, so I keep one pocket empty. I put a mini first-aid kit in the other, having learned a few things from my mother. I also have assorted tools, an open holster for my handgun, plenty of magazines, and a knife at my back. On top of my t-shirt, I wear my bulletproof kevlar, followed by my camo jacket, and lastly, my tactical vest full of goodies.

 _I can do this,_ I remind myself, adjusting the mouthpiece to my camelback which I need to fill.

I make my way down to the armory to get my handgun, which has no scope to be adjusted, my rifle, which was strapped to my back, and my sniper rifle.

"That's a lot of firepower for such a small package," Gale says as I pull out my handgun. There's no magazine on it, but I pull the slide back as if to cock it.

"It's only a three fifty seven magnum…" I grin. He’s got the same amount to carry as me, "Oh, you mean my baby?" I lift up my rifle case, "She barely kicks."

"Someday, you're going to make a terrifying mother…" he proclaims, and I roll my eyes. Gale knows full well I'm never going to have children, especially in my line of work. I snap on my helmet, making sure Prim's picture is in it after putting on my sunglasses.

Gale gets into the same Humvee as me; there are five in our convoy. We are at the front, the canary in a coal mine. If there's an IED in the road, we'll be the first to know.

"This is the most dangerous part…" he tells me in a hushed voice. "Once you get into the city, don't worry,  _most_  everyone will be happy to see us."

" _Most everyone_  is waiting for us to turn our backs so they can put a bullet in our skulls," Cato interjects.

"Private Cato, is there any reason why your personal prejudice might prevent you from adequately performing your assigned duty?" I hear Peeta ask. I just noticed that he's in the truck.

"No, sir," he grumbles.

"Good, because if Sergeant Everdeen or I find you unable to perform your duties without endangering your battalion or civilians, you'll find yourself back on base until your deployment is over." I smirk at this and take a sip from the canteen at my hip. He's handling Cato’s behavior far better than I would have.

I give my spare dog tag to Abernathy. If for some reason I go missing, they'll know the second they do a roll check.

"Hey Katniss…" I know that kind voice anywhere… why now? _I'm about to go up into the sniper's nest, Peeta, please don't make this awkward._ I turn to see him adjusting his rifle on his back. "Shoot straight," he says. I nod, smiling a little before opening the door to the abandoned house and climbing the creaky stairs to the top. There's a bucket, most likely to use as a toilet, and a table to lay on that's presently occupied by a haggard looking man. A gust of wind blows, causing the building to shift slightly. It's not the most stable structure I've ever been in, that’s for sure.

"So you're my replacement…" he says, not bothering to get up or look at me. I take out my gun and twist on the silencer, "You’re the ‘girl on fire,’ right?"

"I'm not sure I follow you," I respond, attaching the legs to my rifle. He gets up, giving me the table.

"The boys on base… they were watching you yesterday and all they could say was that you were on fire on the range. Thus, the 'Girl on Fire'," he explains, putting his rifle back in his case. "I’ve seen movement in the far building with the flat roof. We've had activity in it, but nothing major. Third window from the left," I nod, positioning myself accordingly.

I'm used to the life of a sniper, staying in the same spot for hours on end. I know we have men in the hills living in holes, switching twelve on twelve off with another guy in the same hole, so I really couldn't complain. I look at Fallujah from my position. Everything seems to have a tan tint to it - the streets, the buildings, the cars. I use my scope to get a better view of the city. People are moving about, buzzing about their day. Suddenly, I see Mellark and Marvel walk to the edge of their patrol. A small girl comes running towards Peeta, hugging his legs. He bends down and embraces her while Marvel looks around awkwardly. From his pack, Peeta hands her a small, paper-wrapped parcel.

" _Rue…"_ I whisper. I want to watch more of their exchange, but have to keep my eye on the windows. Every. Single. Window.

" _Don't be fooled by the rocks that I got! I'm still, I'm still, Jenny from the block,"_ I hear singing in my earpiece. I'd know that voice anywhere.

" _Hawthorne… if you're going to sing, don't torture the rest of us…"_ Odair scolds.

" _I thought his singing was lovely,"_ someone says. I see movement, and immediately train my gun on the open window. It's just a woman shaking out a rug. I exhale a sigh of relief.

" _Hey, Girl on Fire,"_  I let out an audible groan,  _"You bored up there yet?"_

I put two fingers up to my earpiece, the microphone coming down around my mouth. "I'm just up here listening to you guys act like idiots while looking into people's windows."

" _To be fair… I had a rock in my boot,"_ I rest my forehead on the table, laughing.

"Thanks Gale…" I answer. His expert, jack-ass behavior is certainly helping alleviate some of my tension.

Four hours pass by quickly as I go back to my old habit of winning arguments long since past. I take another sip from my camelback and hear footsteps on the stairs. I can't understand what they're saying, but hear a giggle.

I take my eye off my scope and watch Marvel set up. "Apparently there was activity at point A, third window from the left…” I tell him. “I saw nothing, but you never know." I get up from the table, packing my gun and tucking it in the corner for later use.

* * *

Rue is tugging on Peeta's wrist, making him come down to her level. She whispers something in his ear that causes a blush to creep across his cheeks.

"You need the bucket?" he asks, even though we've commandeered a vacant house with what could be a bathroom.

"No, and I think the guy before me already used it… so good luck with that." My eyes are on the little girl. She's doe-eyed at the sight of me, but pulls out a bar of Hershey's chocolate from the pocket of her thin white over shirt and eats a few pieces.

"Ready?" Peeta asks as Rue takes his hand, chattering in Arabic. "Rue wants to show you around." The girl beams at me. She can't be more than ten years old and reminds me a lot of Prim at that age, wide-eyed and curious about everything around her. I check the safety on my rifle and hold it as per regulation - stock in my shoulder, one hand on the grip, ready to shoot when needed.

"By all means, give me the tour," Peeta quickly translates for me. She switches from his hand to my arm, pulling me to the stairs.

"She asked me why there were no girls here today. I told her about you and she lit up," he tells me as Rue continues to babble. I eye every civilian on our route as Rue points out businesses, eventually stopping at what appears to be a general store.

"Her mom and dad ran this place before her mother passed," he explains. I watch Rue constantly fiddle with her hair before pulling Peeta down to her level again. She whispers in his ear once more, and he nods in reply.

"Did I do something wrong?" I ask, fearful that I've offended the starry-eyed girl.

"She wishes she had pretty hair like yours." I think back to my bun. A man came out of the store staring at us curiously, "That’s her father…” Peeta explains. Now I really don't know how to act.

"Can you ask him if it's okay if I braid his daughter's hair?" I dig in my belt for my spare hairbands, having broken my fair share over the years. Peeta asks, or at least I assume he did, and he gives me the go ahead.

I don't have a comb, but the girl’s hair isn't knotty at all. In fact, it's well taken care of. I work her waist-long hair into a simple braid, starting at the widow's peak and down her back before fastening it with a band.

"There you go… Now I wish I had pretty hair like you," I say, smiling as Peeta translates. Rue runs for the window of her father's shop and gasps before running back to hug me with her chocolate smeared hands.

"I think she likes it," Peeta says and smiles. I’d like to linger and spend more time with the girl, but we probably should get going. We walk through our quarter for the next four hours, taking a short break to eat a meal bar and nearly empty our camelbacks.

"Listen… about last night," he starts. "I should have just kicked you out. It was dumb of me, but we were both tired and after everything… I can't relate to your...situation, but still..." he huffs, trying to find the right words.

"Mellark?" I look up from my bar. Rue had since been called back to the shop with her father and it's just the two of us for the time being. Now seems like a good time to lay down the ground rules. "We're friends, okay? We were tired and two people in that twin sized bed is a stretch. You also hit me… several times," I say, rubbing my cheek and smiling a little. "Don't make it awkward or it won't happen again."

He nudges me a little, "So you'll sleep with me again?"

I laugh, "We'll see, Sarge… we'll see." I take another bite of my bar, giving him a small sideways grin.


	6. The Storm

**Chapter 6 – The Storm**

_Day Two:_

I sit in the sniper’s nest as always, peeking in people's windows. I watch as Cato and Clove round the corner, hardly paying attention to the world around them. I groan because I confirmed there's an enemy watching through a window near them. It's an awkward shot, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed that someone else with a better view can get it.

"Cato, Clove, watch your backs," I caution just as the window opens. I see the metal barrel of a rifle; if only I was a building over, I could get a shot.

I wait patiently for what seems like hours before I see a head. I can’t think, I refuse to think. I pull my trigger and see the man slump in the window. My breath catches in my throat - I just ended someone's life.

"Target down," I inform them. "Maybe you should listen to me the next time I say  _watch your backs_ …"

The next few moments are tense, since combat could break out at the drop of a hat. Instead, a calm comes over our sector once again and I can finally breathe. My bullet didn't start a battle, _this time…_

_Day Three:_

It is hotter today than anything I've ever felt before. I manage to empty both my canteen and my camelback just two hours into my patrol.

"Here…" Peeta offers me his, but I wave it off. "Katniss, you'll get dehydrated," he warns. There is disappointment in his voice, most likely from my lack of self-preservation instincts.

" _Peeta_ ," I groan, shaking the last drops of my canteen onto my dry lips. I hear the door to Rue's father's shop open. In his hands are two bottles of water, one for me and one for Peeta. I try to pay him, though I only have US currency.

The man shakes his head before looking to Peeta, saying something in Arabic that's far too fast for me to even attempt to understand. "He says take them for free as thanks for giving his daughter someone to look up to."

I smile and nod, "Shokran." I know my pronunciation is off, but the man nods in reply and returns to his shop after giving us a smile.

_Day Four:_

I hear Rue bounding up the stairs to the sniper’s nest. "Careful!" Peeta scolds, as their footsteps shake the whole building. I look up from my rifle for just a second, since there appears to be activity in my line of sight.

Rue stands in her bare feet holding a disgruntled looking cat by the armpits. "She thinks you need company up here," Peeta starts as she set the cat down. The animal looks absolutely confused but paws around. He has a pure white body, except for his ears and tail, which are tabby orange.

"One second…" I say, holding up my finger and adjusting my rifle ever so slightly. "Get her out of the room…" I look up at Peeta who nods, hopefully he's telling her that they should wait outside, but she refuses.

I look into her innocent eyes. Who knows how many she's seen die already? Still, I feel the need to protect her. Then it hits me, that's exactly what I’m doing.

I pull the trigger, the rifle pushing back on my shoulder but making little to no noise. "Target down," I say over the radio, holding my breath as always, waiting for a battle to break out. I close my eyes, letting my head drop so my helmet is on the table. I feel a small hand on my shoulder and something batting at my helmet. When I look up, the cat and I are eye to eye.

We name the cat Amal, which means hope in Arabic.

_Day Five:_

No more kills today, but Amal is at the top of my shit list. He's taken a liking to me and likes to nap under my rifle, hissing whenever I need to make an adjustment. I nudge him off the table at least five times during my four hour shift. He follows us on patrol.

There's a woman along our route who sells handmade jewelry and items she's come across during her travels. I always find myself perusing her merchandise for something I could give to Prim.

She gives me the one minute sign before digging through her robes and producing a circular pin. There's a bird in the center holding an arrow. She points up to the sniper’s nest and makes a motion like holding a rifle before babbling and pinning it to my vest with a pat.

"She says you keep watch over her neighborhood from your hawk perch and keep the children safe from those who would do them harm," Peeta tells me. I examine the pin; it isn't a hawk, but a jay.

"Shokran," she smiles and nods at me before going back to organizing her merchandise.

_Day Six:_

It’s hot again today, so I bring along an extra canteen. I decide to do this every day from now on. I've even started packing an extra few meal bars.

_Day Seven:_

We suffer a casualty in another sector. It’s no one I know, but it seems to have upset Gale. We have a late dinner on base, covered in sweat and dirt. The wind has been brutal lately and there is talk about a dust storm coming. Though you can't actually predict one, the people of Fallujah still seem very concerned.

"Mitchell was a good guy," Gale grumbles, stabbing at his food as I down my third glass of water. "He could shoot the dust off your boot at fifty yards." I open my mouth to speak, but he interjects, "With a handgun." I close my mouth and look up at Peeta, giving him an apologetic glance. "He's got a wife and two kids back home, one on the way, too." I put my fork down at these words. All I can think about is Prim. "That baby will  _never_  know its Dad," Gale finishes, pointing his fork in my direction.

"Prim barely knew our Dad either…" I lament before going back to my food. I'm sore, tired and want nothing more to do with this conversation. Prim was only six when our Dad passed, and she's eighteen now.

"Has it really been twelve years?" I whisper, finishing off my food. Peeta and Gale are wrapped up in their own conversation. It seems friendly, but I know that look in Gale's eyes… he's noticing the close relationship between Peeta and I, and feels apprehensive about it.

After dinner, I wash the sand and dirt from my body, still unable to shake the sorrow I feel for the children who would never see their father again, or the wife that just lost the love of her life. That's why I'll never marry. I saw what my mother went through after my father was taken prisoner, and knew what that woman back in the States would face. Will someone be there to help her pick up the pieces?

" _Mom, please! Get out of bed! Mom!"_

I rinse the shampoo out of my hair and start washing my body.

" _Mom, please, we're hungry!"_

I dry myself off and put on my sweats before braiding my hair.

" _There's no food, Mom, please do something! Mom, don't just sit there, do something!"_

"Katniss?" I snap back to reality, where was I? "Katniss, are you in there?" Peeta asks and I look up at him. He doesn't ask any questions, just closes the door behind us quietly and leads me to his bed. He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me.

_Day Eight:_

I wake up in Peeta's bed less jumpy than before. We walk to breakfast together and eat in comfortable silence. He still hasn't asked me why I showed up at his door in tears the night before. Instead, he walks me up to the nest unwilling to leave, but duty calls. Maybe he feels the electricity in the air as well?

"I'll be fine," I promise him with a smile. Marvel is downstairs smoking; he seems jumpy, but I pass it off as nerves. I unpack and position myself, taking a deep breath of the strange air, which feels tense and ready to ignite. My four hours are uneventful and soon enough, Marvel and I switch off.

"Where's Rue?" I ask as Amal weaves through my feet, threatening to trip me. "Damn cat…" I mumble. Peeta shrugs and drinks from his canteen, "Working in the shop with her Dad, I think…" I frown a little, missing her doe eyes.

"She wants to grow up and be like you…" he tells me as we walk along our patrol. "I haven't seen her yet today though…" Peeta looks off in the distance as we near her Dad's shop.

"Peeta! Katniss!" I hear Rue's voice call. She has been working on pronouncing our names but could only get our first ones down. I crouch down to receive her hug, as I’ve done every day for the last seven days, and she reaches into her tunic. I look up at Peeta just before I feel fire tear through my arm.

Joy is a strange thing - it's hard to come by and can be taken away in a flash. I watch it disappear from Peeta's face instantly, replaced by anguish and confusion. My arm grows wet, but it's the small weight I feel slumped against me that brings me back to reality, away from Peeta's hurt face.

"Rue!" Peeta cries as I drop to my knees. The small, doe-eyed girl's head is resting in my lap, her white tunic quickly turning red. Tears come to my eyes.

_No… No! This can't be…_

The doors open and we hear yelling. "This is going to get bad fast," Peeta warns. I'm shaking as I stare at the bleeding wound on the small girl's chest. I barely understand what Peeta means, because I can only focus on Rue. She's staring blankly at us, coughing up blood every few seconds.

"We're going to need back-up in Sector One. We have a civilian down, one injured," I hear someone say and look up. Peeta is perfectly fine, so who's injured? I stroke Rue's braid, which I've done for her every morning over the last seven days, as her father yells and sobs next to his only child. He reaches for her, only to back away a few seconds later, unable to find the strength. Peeta is next to me in an instant, telling me to get my arm looked at but I shoo him away. I can't leave Rue, and my arm is fine anyway. She’s the glimmer of hope that what I've been doing is making a difference.

The glimmer that's fading fast, bleeding out on the frozen Fallujah street.

I know where she's hit… two inches off the kill zone, just at the top of her lungs. This isn't a survivable wound, as the pulmonary artery and vein are right in that area. The pool of blood under her body is growing, and I know once it reaches a certain point there would be no saving her. My knees are already soaked in blood.

"It's okay…" I cry, stroking her cheek as her father continues yelling and sobbing. "You're okay…" I know she can't understand me, I know she's not okay, but I have to tell myself that. She pulls Peeta to her trembling lips as I brush tears from her eyes, both mine and hers.

"She wants to know if you can sing to her… Sing her to sleep." His voice is hallow, his eyes dark.

"I'm no good…" I cry.

" _Katniss!_ " he pleads.

I look into her hopeful but still vacant eyes. Eyes that wanted to see the world, to read every book she could get her hands on and I begin singing, "Deep in the meadow… Under the willow…" I brush the loose strands of hair from her face and use my thumb to wipe blood from her mouth. "A bed of grass, a soft green pillow…" Her lips are trembling, her breaths nothing more than gurgling grasps. Peeta's hand is on her wrist, "Lay your head down, and close your eyes…" Her eyes are growing more and more unfocused as she stares straight into the sun. "And when they open, the sun will rise…" I can barely get the words out, but Peeta nods. Rue has stopped breathing and he lets go of her wrist.

I put my hands to my face and let out a scream. Feeling my own blood trickle down my arm, the pain finally hits me. I've been shot.

None of that matters, though. I see what Rue was reaching for, a tattered copy of  _To Kill a Mockingbird._ We haven't moved much, barely at all, so I look up at the only possible place the shot could have come from - _the sniper’s nest._

I hand Rue's dead body to her father, who is still wailing. I want to comfort him, tell him that everything will be okay, but I know I can't. Tunnel vision has already set in.

I hear Peeta call my name, and see Marines coming to take control of this now chaotic sector. It seems as though the second Rue's heart stopped beating, every shopkeeper and resident retreated inside their house. The only people remaining on the road now are threats to our safety. My entire sleeve is red with blood as I pick up the book and storm over to the nest.

Just like that, the air ignites in a frenzy of bullets.

"What the FUCK WAS THAT?" I yell at Marvel, who seems completely unaffected by this situation. Despite the yelling, chaos, and gunfire in the streets, he appears cool as a cucumber, sneering at me.

"She was coming at you reaching into her shirt! She could have had a-" It doesn't seem like he was defending me, instead telling me how I should see what just happened.

"She walks with you and Mellark every morning!" I shout, holding out the book. "She was giving him this!" I wave it in my good arm, seeing as the other one has decided to stop working right.

"I was just-" He’s calm, far too calm.

"Get the fuck out of my sight, Private," I holler, and he leaves wordlessly. I scream and knock over both the table and the piss bucket in an uncaring rage before slumping into a corner, screaming into my knees.

_Was this the cost of freedom?_

Once my fury subsides, I head down the creaky stairs that lead to the back of the house where our "bathroom" is, but not before tossing my helmet to the floor of the living space adjacent to it. I splash water on my face, still ignoring my arm. It burns but is tolerable, meaning he must have missed the bone.

I'm not exactly sure what happens next. I know I have to get back to combat. I've abandoned Peeta, though back-up was there fast. The last thing I remember hearing is the creaking of the floor as I step into the living space. A loud blast throws me to the ground before everything goes black, although I'm not unconscious. The rickety building gives way, trapping me in a large, dark, yet open space. I attempt to cover my mouth while waiting for the dust to settle. There’s debris everywhere, bits and pieces of the house splattering against my face. I see a gap in the wall that I could possibly escape through, but notice something is wrong when I try to stand. My leg is trapped under rubble and I'm too dizzy and weak to free myself.

_I'm going to die… I'm going to die here._

"Sergeant Everdeen, do you read me?" It's Peeta's voice, hallow but still panicked. My good arm is trapped under what looks like the remnants of a table and some of the celling that was once so high above my head. My shot arm is so weak I can barely lift it to the microphone. It feels as though the bone's been turned to mush and my forearm flops to the side. I don't even have the strength to hit the call button. Peeta repeats himself several times, each time sounding more and more panicked.

_I'm going to die here…_


	7. As the Wind Howls

**Chapter 7 – As the Wind Howls**

Breathing is getting harder as the rubble from the house crushes my frame; everything has a strange haze around it. I'm pretty sure this is what they mean when they say you're "seeing stars".

I fight to stay conscious because staying awake means staying alive. I can hear the pop of gunfire in the distance, rapid and frantic.

"I'm sorry, Prim…" I whisper, staring into the darkness. "I'm sorry, Mom. First Dad, then me…" If I die, then at least I’ll die for my country. After yelling at the man who killed an innocent girl and shot me at the same time, then getting pinned under a building, it’s a heroic way to go.

The earpiece remains active despite Peeta calling for me several times. People whose names I couldn't place with a face are injured, but no one from my division. "I'm hit!" I hear a man say. I know that voice, and my stomach sinks.

"Oh, Gale…" I cry, my voice barely a croak.

" _I'm going to find her!"_  I hear Peeta yell through the mic. No one stops him or even argues because they can surely hear the urgency in his voice. My heart skips a beat. Hope…is that what I'm feeling?

They say you never forget the face of the person who is your last hope… and now all I can think about is Peeta Mellark. All I can see is his cocky grin, and the smile that warms my heart.

I lay there silent, barely able to breathe as I wait for Peeta to make the quarter mile trek from where I left him to the sniper’s nest. It feels like an eternity.

I hear some of the rubble move and he curses. "Katniss!" he shouts, and I can hear the wind whistling. A storm is picking up - the dust storm the locals have prepared for, that apparently no one could have predicted, though everyone did.

"Peeta," I manage to call out over the wailing wind and the creaking of the house. Somehow he hears me, shining his flashlight into a hole just big enough for him to climb through. I wince when the light hits my eyes, but can't shy away from it.

I must be worse off than I thought, because the color quickly drains from his face. "Katniss…" His hand is on my cheek and I smile a little. Even though his face is grave, I'm feeling calm now. "I have to get this rubble off you," he says while moving pieces of heavy plaster, fragments of the floor and pieces of furniture off my chest. It’s a huge relief because now I can breathe. He chucks the table leg that had been across my neck to the other side of the space. Next he goes for my legs, which have since gone numb from lack of blood. I’m able to look down now and I see that a good portion of the ceiling is wedged down on my leg. He tucks his arms under my armpits and pulls me from the large chunk of house that has me pinned. I try and hold it in, but I wail in pain as I feel my skin tear. Everything hurts, but nothing seems to be bent at strange angles. I can only hope nothing is broken, though my pants quickly become slick with my blood.

Peeta situates me in his lap, holding my head close to his chest.  _"Sergeant Mellark, report,"_ Major Abernathy orders. Based on the tone in his voice, we've either suffered heavy casualties or he suspects that I'm dead. Well… I feel pretty close to it.

"The subject has been located, over." I hear the beating of Peeta’s heart, rapid but strong. I wonder what mine sounds like now. It's probably uneven but still rapid, perhaps even weak.

"Status on the subject?"

I close my eyes, his heartbeat lulling me to sleep. "She's alive… Let's leave it at…" I feel him shake me, "Katniss! You can't close your eyes!" I grunt back at him and fight to stay awake. The gunfire has since stopped but the wind is getting worse, making the house creak above us.

"We have some bad news, kid. The dust storm is picking up so we have to evac ASAP." The Humvees are on the other side of town. Peeta's face grows dark. "Take cover and stay quiet; they'll be looking for captives…" Abernathy's voice is glum, as if he just handed us our death sentences.

Peeta's jaw tenses as everything sinks in. We won't be rescued until after the storm passes. There’s barely enough food between the two of us to last a day, and our water supply is also limited.

"Understood…" is all Peeta says, and for the second time today, there are tears in his eyes.  I bring my hand up and brush the tears away, only to smear blood on his cheeks.

"Sorry…" I whisper.

Peeta removes his helmet and backpack, using them to give me something to lean up against. He uses rubble to board up the hole, camouflaging our location so no one can see in.

The new ceiling is low, only about five feet off the ground and at a pretty steep angle. It forces him to crawl over to me as I gasp for breath, afraid that each one will be my last.

"I'm so tired…" I whisper as he shines a light in my eyes.

"You're not allowed to be tired, you have to keep me company tonight," he gulps, brushing some hair out of my face. He shines the light in my eyes again and sighs. "Your left eye isn't responding; you may have a concussion." He starts unstrapping my pack and puts it to the side, along with my vest and his jacket.

"Maybe that's why everything's… glowy," I say with a faint smile, trying to lighten the mood, but it doesn't help. I can see the blood on his clothing. "Rue's…" I whisper, touching his bloody knees. He just nods, but he isn't here to mourn because every movement is deliberate. He's on a mission.

"I have to get your shirt off, Katniss. I'm going to lay you down so I can make sure you're not bleeding internally." I nod, wincing as he shifts me again. He unbuttons my jacket since I'm too weak to do it myself, then removes my Kevlar and lifts the sweaty t-shirt from my bruised frame. He lays me down gingerly, smoothing out my hair. His touch is comforting and some of the anxiety I'm feeling is alleviated as he brushes the hair from my eyes.

His eyes are fixated on my arm. I somehow find the strength to lift my head and look at it. At first glance, it looks like a jagged slash. "Marvel…" he just nods. The only first aid Peeta has available is a tourniquet and quikclot. Either of these two options would quite possibly result in me losing my arm. Though the wound is barely bleeding now, it's still filthy and at risk of infection.

All of a sudden, I remember and begin speaking, "In my belt… Uh… Pack… First… Aid Kit…" He pulls my pack into his lap as I choke out the words, "Big pocket… Left side." He pulls out the small white box which contains a bottle of alcohol, first aid cream, a small bottle of saline for eye injuries and a ton of bandages and gauze. He grabs the saline in his hand, since the dirt needs to be flushed from the gash first before it can be treated. "Might as well," he says. Over the howling wind and the creaking building, I can hear yelling in Arabic. If they find us, we’ll surely be taken prisoner and be tortured or killed. I know it will hurt, but we have to keep quiet.

He lays my arm out across his lap and unscrews the top of the saline. There are only a few ounces, so hopefully it’s enough to free the gash of gritty dirt and sand. "Ready?" he asks. I nod, feeling the cool sensation of the saline cleaning the dirt and grime from my wound, but there isn't enough. We're going to have to switch to alcohol. I look up at him, barely able to hide my fear of what's coming next.

I'm sure I look pathetic as Peeta works to save my arm, digging feverishly through the kit, still on a mission. I watch as a bead of sweat runs from his ashy blonde hair down his forehead.  He ignores the trickle running down the side of his face, now scrunched in concentration. "Here we go…" he says, pulling out a sandy colored piece of fabric tightly packaged in clear plastic.

It's a triangular bandage used for making a sling. He tears the plastic away with his teeth before shoving it into my mouth. "Bite down," he tells me, unscrewing the alcohol and dumping a fair amount in the bullet wound. I see white and feel fire. Tears come to my eyes and my half numb legs kick as I thrash around in an effort to get away from the pain. He holds me in place, using tweezers to remove the remaining rubble from the gash. I fight to keep conscious. Consciousness means alive for one more moment, but the pain is awful. Peeta’s face stays scrunched up as he works, though I can barely see him through my tear stained eyes.

 _Make it stop, please make it stop!_  He's holding me, cooing quietly that it'll be all over soon before dumping more alcohol on the wound. I throw myself into him trying to escape, but he pushes me back down. He releases my arm for a brief second before smearing a generous amount of first aid cream on a square of gauze and pressing it to my arm, then bandaging it tightly.

I spit out the folded up sling, panting as the pain subsides. Peeta removes the earpiece as his face grows dark again. "Blood…" he mouths, taking another piece of gauze and pressing it to my ear, then shining the flashlight on it. It’s a test to see if spinal fluid is leaking out.  I've never been so relieved to only see blood leaking from my ears. He uses a small amount of alcohol on the pad to clean a cut on my forehead that was leaking blood into my hair. He bandages it up, tying a knot in the back of my head to keep it secure. He works silently as I watch his every move, completely admiring his calm given our situation.

"I'm so tired…" I sob. I just want to sleep.

"I know, I know," he mumbles. His hands are on my ribs as he feels for breaks, moving slowly and methodically from my armpits to my waist, taking notice of whether my breaths are even. "Tell me a story," he pleads, both wanting and  _needing_  to keep me awake.

I'm not sure where the memory comes from, maybe the concussion. "We danced together at our senior prom," I start, and he looks up from palpating my abdomen, shocked. "What… you think I forgot?" I ask, mustering the best smirk I can, given the situation.

He takes my pants off next. In any other circumstance, this would be a huge violation of my personal rules. "Boy shorts?" he asks with a smirk, admiring my matching underwear. I keep talking though, ignoring the deep gash on my thigh.

"Madge made me go. I didn't want to, but I was enlisting soon and she wanted to get one last hurrah out of me. Apparently Prom is  _something_  normal teenagers do," I say hoarsely. He doesn't look at me, instead giving my sore hips a tight squeeze, feeling for breaks. "She let me borrow a dress that was too small for her. It was light orange and short, went mid-thigh…" His hand pauses. "Right where your hand is, it had a jeweled band right across my waist. The skirt was made of layers of the fabric, a light orange material with pink and yellow pieces mixed in. Madge said when you spun me around, I looked like I was on fire…"

I don't know how, but I remember the night like it was yesterday. I ball up my fist, grabbing as much dirt and rubble as I can while he pours alcohol into the gash on my leg before wrapping it. My mind is less focused on the wound so I don't need the bite block, but I still hiss in pain, causing him to stiffen. My eyes start tearing up as he feels down the length of my legs, telling me to push down on his hands and then pull up with my feet. I’m sitting in my underwear crying like a baby, my mouth running before my brain can tell it to shut up.

"I had the biggest crush on you since grade school, but I was so shy I couldn't tell you. When I found out you were joining the Marines too, I thought, 'What a good conversation starter, I'm enlisting soon too!' That seemed stalkerish, so Madge marched right up to you and told you to ask me to dance. I didn't have a date, since half of the school thought I was a weirdo and the other half a bitch. I never thought you'd go for it…but sure enough, you marched right up to me," I sniffle, wiping the tears from my eyes with my good arm. "It's so stupid… I can't even remember the song, but I can remember the look on your face, how you smelled, how your hand felt on my lower back… I just can't hear the song…"

The only noise in our little crawl space is the howling of the wind and the creaking of the protective rubble "Kiss me…" he finally says.

I look up at him. "Peeta, this is hardly the time to make out," I say, laughing a little.

"We danced to Kiss Me, by Sixpence None the Richer. It was a little fast, but I'd wanted you in my arms for so long I was willing to settle…" he sighs, resting his arm on his bent up knee. "I never did find the courage to kiss you," he mutters, sitting down next to me, a dumbfounded look on his face.

And here we are. Me in my underwear, covered in bandages except on my surprisingly unaffected torso, him soaked in Rue's blood. We’re trapped in a collapsed house while the enemy searches for us and a dust storm rages above. I lean into him. Even though it's hot, I'm freezing. Peeta wraps his arms around me, though we both reek of sweat, dirt and blood. It doesn’t matter, however, because for all we know, this could be our last night. There are still voices outside, yelling. Our flashlight is off and the only light coming in is from a crack in the "ceiling". I look up at Peeta, his face dark and determined. He reaches and grabs his gun from its holster. He hands me his rifle, and we wait.

They're right outside the boarded up hole he crawled through to get in. Peeta holds me close and strokes my hair, keeping the gun trained on the hole as I wrap my bad arm around him for support. I lean the rifle against my good shoulder and aim for the same spot as him. If we're going down here, we're not going down without a fight.

The sun sets and our little hole grows dimmer and dimmer. The wind picks up a bit more at some point, plugging our only light source with sand. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust in order to see the outline of my gun, but the voices are gone. The only noises left are our haggard breathing and the creaking of the collapsed house.

"They're gone…" he whispers, lowering his weapon and taking mine from me.

"What were they saying?" I ask. He shakes his head. “Trust me, you don't want to know. Let's get you dressed," he says, putting my pants on as I strain to get into my shirt. There's a long tear along most of the right leg where I can see the gauze, spotted with blood. He holds me again once my boots are on and hands me a canteen. "Don't chug it, this may have to last us a few days…" he says glumly. I don't even want to think about our food situation. He checks our camelbacks which are almost full, a small blessing.

"What happened?" I finally ask. I need to know what transpired after I left and ended up trapped under a building.

He sighs and kisses the top of my head. I want to shy away, but who knows if we'll survive this night? At any moment, the rest of the building could collapse or someone could find us. Instead, I enjoy his touch, his smell, his voice.

"After Rue died… after you left, a local started firing, or at least I think they did. It was chaos…"

"I heard Gale say he was hit… Is he okay?"

Peeta shrugs and sighs, "I can't say, Katniss… I just knew I had to find you… I didn't stick around long enough to see." He strokes my bloody hair.

I nod, wanting to distract myself from Gale's situation, "Let's take an inventory…" I turn my wrist over and hit the button on the side of my watch to illuminate the screen. It’s the only light safe enough to use.

We both empty our packs and lay out our canteens. "We both carry extras, so we have some extra water… five meal bars, two MRE's, wait…" He digs through his pants pockets and produces two more meal bars, and I find a smashed one in my pants pocket. "You need more food, you take the MRE's," he pleads, but I shake my head.

"You need to keep up your strength. If they find us and you're malnourished, we're both good as dead." He wants to argue, but snaps his mouth closed. For now, I've won this round.

"What time is it?" he finally asks. I check my watch but frown in frustration.

I can't read the numbers… I recognize them, but I can't understand what they mean. "Can you tell me?" I hold out my arm for him.

"1900... _ish._ " He holds out his arms to me again and I eagerly curl up on his side.

"Do you want to sleep?" he asks, knowing the answer. He shifts to lay down, our jackets and Kevlar functioning as pillows. "Give me your wrist," he commands. I do and he starts playing with the watch. "There, the timer will go off in an hour. You're not going to like it, but I have to make sure you don't slip into a coma…" I nod in understanding.

We lay there cuddled up against one another, listening to the creaking of our prison/shelter before he finally speaks. "That night before our first day out here was the best sleep I’ve had since coming to Iraq…" he confesses. I look up and smile a little.

"Mine too…" Some things just happen, while some things are unavoidable. My lips crashing onto Peeta's is one of them. He freezes for a second, and I realize I’ve crossed the line, opening a door that should have remained closed. But I couldn’t help myself, I _had_ to know.

Finally, his arms encircle me, gingerly rubbing my bruised and sore back as he deepens the kiss. I feel his tongue brush up against my lips, so I gladly part mine for him. I rest too much weight on my wounded arm and cry into his mouth. He jerks away at the sound, concern written all over his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, repositioning me so I can rest without pain. With my head on his chest again, I fall asleep listening to his slow, rhythmic heartbeat.

But every hour on the hour, Peeta shakes me awake.

"My name is Katniss Everdeen, I'm twenty two years old, I'm from Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, I'm in the United States Marine Corps, I'm a Staff Sergeant with the 74th Battalion, I'm a sniper," I rattle off, waiting for his next question. Each hour brings a different one. He started with my name, then let me go back to sleep. The next hour my age, then where we were from, et cetera. Each question gets a little more complicated, forcing me to draw on deeper parts of my memory. I count six questions, six hours… or was it seven? We are definitely on the seventh hour, sometime in the middle of the night.

"Peeta…" I nudge him a little, preventing him from going back to sleep. "I'm hungry," I say, biting my lip as he sits both of us up. We’re afraid to already dip into our precious food supply, though we should be more concerned about the water.

He pulls the MRE closer, "Share?" I hesitate and grab a bar.

"I want your hot sauce and bread…even if it's not the Cheez-its," I complain. He rolls his eyes and opens the package for me.

"You eat so much hot sauce," he laughs as I put Tabasco on the already spiced bread. "You use at least one a meal!" I roll the tiny bottle in the pads of my fingers before biting into my bread.

I sip at my water as I chew, making the food go down easier.

"You know… It's funny," he begins. I look up, confused. We've since turned the flashlight on, but placed his shirt over it to lessen the light. "I know you'd risk your life for me… But I don't even know your favorite color."

"Green…" I tell him without hesitation.

"Green…" he echoes. "Like camo?" he teases, shoveling more food into his mouth.

"No… like..." I pause, trying to explain, "The leaves in early spring and the grass, that bright, lively green." I smile, thinking of the old oak in the front yard of my family’s home. I can see the swing attached to a low straight limb that my Dad used to push me on. I wonder if the new owners ever tore it down.

"Yours?" I ask.

"Orange," he replies without hesitation.

"Like… caution cone orange?"

"Nah… that's too bright. More subdued… like your prom dress…" I blush a little and take another bite. Since my headache is basically gone and my pupils are both responding to light, Peeta decides to let me sleep for a few hours at a time.

Since the wind is still howling, we agree that both of us should sleep for three hours. Peeta switches off the flashlight and tugs his shirt back on before pulling me back into his arms. I nuzzle into his chest, once again falling asleep to the slow beating of his heart.


	8. The Dust Settles

**Chapter 8 – The Dust Settles**

I stir awake to the beeping of my alarm, my fingers tightly clutched around what I can only assume to be Peeta. "Hey…" I yawn, still exhausted. "Hey…" I whine, shaking him awake.

"What's your name?" he yawns.

"Katniss Everdeen."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"Where do you live?"

"Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania… Wait, no…" I huff and lay back down, "Washington, DC." A sudden, strong gust of wind makes every inch of our shelter creak.

Peeta's arms wrap around me, holding me close. If we're going down, it would be like this but the shelter doesn't give way…

Each time this happens, we look at each other and laugh nervously before one of us leans in and kisses the other. We eat again and sip at some water before trying to find something to entertain ourselves.

"I might still have a deck of cards in my pack…" I say groggily, the migraine from my concussion becoming almost unbearable. "We could play war," I chuckle, pulling my good leg in and resting my forehead against it. The room is starting to spin again.

"You're burning up…" he says, feeling my forehead. The sun must have risen at some point, heating the space to a sauna-like temperature. There’s a weak, hot draft coming through every few minutes, just enough to cycle the air.

"It is like a hundred degrees in here…" I go for my button fly and begin stripping, much to Peeta's amusement. "What? It's hot in here, plus it's not like you haven't seen me in my underwear before.” I use my good arm to lift myself up and sit on my pants. I give him a quick smile before removing my shirt and pressing the canteen to my chest.

"If someone asked me from the time I was fourteen on if I thought I'd see you in your underwear, I'd have laughed in their faces," he smirks, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning against the wall.

"Please… I wasn't anything special… as a kid, as a teenager, or now as an adult." I take the cards out of my pack and begin shuffling. I'm not even sure why I have them, just some absent thought weeks ago to shove the deck in.

"I'm guessing you didn't know this,” he says, “But your name or something about you was written in almost every bathroom stall… At least the men's, can't say anything about the girls'."

I freeze up. "Yeah, they were probably calling me weird or something." I bridge the cards and tap them until they're even.

He shrugs. "There was one… but it received such a negative response." I go to deal the cards, our faces only lit up by the dim flashlight.

"Sure, Peeta… the entire school that seemed to avoid me like the plague secretly wanted me." We flip our first cards. I get an eight, he gets a nine and takes the set.

"Like I said, I can only speak for the men's rooms. War." I look down, there are two kings looking up at us.

"W-A-R, War." I flip a jack, him a four.

"If that's the case, why did I eat alone almost every day? Or work on my projects alone or…"

"You're intimidating, Katniss!" I look at him, confused. "A lot of guys, especially at that age, don't want a girl who can fend for herself. They want to be the one she runs to. You see a challenge and run straight for it, always coming out on top." I look at our surroundings, smirking, and take the next three sets of cards before Peeta hits a winning streak.

"Have you seen where we are? I didn't come out on top of this building!" He just shrugs as he takes my final card, a queen.

My headache finally gets the best of me. Even though it’s sweltering, I find my way into Peeta's arms, waking up only after it's grown much darker and cooler in the crawl space. Peeta snores peacefully next to me as I dress myself once more and return to our previous positioning.

We're lucky. Actually, lucky doesn't even begin to cover it. We've managed to sleep through not only the night, but the remainder of the dust storm. I would have slept more if not for the stream of light beating down perfectly into my eyes.

Suddenly, I hear a voice not too far away. Fear grips me, but I can't understand the language. I sigh in relief before scrambling up, ignoring the pain that rolls over every inch of my body. "Sergeant Mellark, report," the voice says. These are short range radios, barely reaching the edge of the base.

"T-this is Sergeant Everdeen, sir," I reply in a quiet voice.

"What is your status?" Abernathy's voice is lighter this time.

"One injured, one asleep. It's getting kind of stuffy under this building, though," I confirm as the channel goes quiet.

"We can leave you there, you know. We'll come get Mellark, you can stay," Odair teases.

I laugh a little, the breaths making my ribs ache while my brain feels like it wants to make a jail break from my skull. I move too quickly and fall backwards onto Peeta, managing to stay conscious long enough for him to startle awake.

I wake up a short while later, propped up against Peeta's backpack once more, hearing voices outside. At first, I panic and want to lunge for my gun. "Everdeen, Mellark!" they yell. Peeta moves to the boarded up hole immediately. He throws a look back at me, a grin on his face.

"Here!" we shout, though my voice is barely above a whisper. Peeta starts tearing at the rubble which kept our location concealed. I cover my face with my good arm as the light pouring in makes my headache worse. Peeta picks me up, not trusting me to climb out on my own. I reach out as Peeta passes me through the hole into Thresh's arms, then grabs the rest of our supplies.

"Where's everyone else...?" I choke out as I'm laid onto a backboard. Thresh tells me nothing as they strap me in and carry me the short distance to our Humvee. I steal one final glance at the building I just spent the last day trapped under. It's a mess of twisted metal and broken walls. No one should have survived that collapse… though for some reason, we did.

I discover a new sore spot at each bump on the way back to Dreamland. Peeta is seated by my head, his hand brushing against my cheek every so often to tell me he's still there.

I pass out at some point, because the next thing I know, I wake up to the slow beeping sound of a heart monitor. "There she is…" a soothing voice says. I feel tugging on the skin of my leg. I attempt to move, but two firm hands press down on my shoulders.

"Easy there, sweetheart, let the woman stitch you up," Abernathy says as I open my eyes.

"I didn't think it was in your job description to babysit injured Sergeants…" My throat's so dry the words barely escape, but the old man's eyes light up.

"I made an exception…" he affirms, releasing his iron grip on my shoulders. Whatever they're using to numb my legs is wearing off because I feel every single push and pull of the needle.

"Where's Mellark?" I ask, wincing, while trying to take a peek at my leg.

Abernathy crosses his arms over his chest, "Giving his testimony, hopefully," he grunts. "While you were relaxing in that hole, Corporal Cresta came forward about a plan between Marvel, Cato, Clove and Glimmer to start something in Fallujah. Cato was the one who started firing yesterday, though Glimmer and Clove weren't far behind. They've been dishonorably discharged and are on a plane back to the States. Marvel is in custody, facing murder charges." I nod, soaking all of the new information in. "We don't take that shit lightly, you know. If you want, we can even tack on an attempted murder charge," he pokes at my stitched up arm, making me wince.

"No… That's fine," I reply. I'm in only my underwear and sports bra. The nurse throws the blanket over my legs, finally covering me.

"You have a concussion, so you'll be staying here tonight for observation, and maybe tomorrow night as well. Four bruised ribs, twelve stitches in your arm, twenty in this leg of yours. They should heal nicely, though. That boy took good care of you," the nurse confirms.

My heart sinks. I’m in Peeta Mellark's debt yet again, a position I loathe. Not because it's him, but because I basically owe him my life.

She puts her gloved hands on my face and examines my forehead. She goes for a tray, producing a small needle. "This one's going to need stitches, too." Without warning, she pushes the needle into the thin skin of my forehead, the medication causing it to numb.

The Major is occupying the metal chair next to my hospital bed. "We got word that they're moving a good chunk of us to Baghdad," he tells me. I nod, wincing a little.

"Hold still!" the nurse hisses.

"Who's going?" I ask.

"You, Mellark, Cresta, Odair, myself, Hawthorne too, though they're thinking about sending you and Hawthorne home." I jerk up, the suture kit hanging from my forehead.

_I can't leave Peeta…_

"No! You can't do that! I refuse!"

He smirks first, then bursts out laughing, "Which is why when they handed me your discharge papers, I tore them up. Hawthorne's, too. We need snipers," he affirms. The nurse pushes me back down so she can finish stitching my forehead. "Well… I'm going to leave, you seem busy." The chair creaks as he rises and I hear his footsteps get quieter and quieter.

"You're going to have some scar on this pretty face of yours, not to mention your arms and legs," she says, and I huff a little, here it comes. "You're going to ruin your body that way." Military nurses aren’t known for being kind and caring. "If you were my daughter… Wooh."

"But I'm not. I'm the daughter of a nurse and a Marine whose footsteps I'm following in," I tell her matter-of-factly.

She just smiles and cuts off the thread in my forehead. “You rest up, we'll be bringing food in soon," I sigh and force myself to sit up as she leaves. I’m tired, but not enough to sleep.

The curtain is drawn around my bed, giving me some privacy, as I'm the only injured female in this ward. I pull my uncut leg to my chest and hug it, feeling isolated in my little tomb.

"Catnip," I hear Gale whisper before the curtain draws for me to see the bed next to mine.  "Finally decided to wake up from your cat nap, huh?" I roll my eyes and wipe the dampness from them.

"What?" I ask, noting the concern all over his face.

"Your face," he says. I touch my cheek feeling the tenderness, wincing slightly. I grab a hold of the metal tray left by my opinionated nurse and I look at myself in the shiny metal. There’s a deep bruise under my right eye and down my cheek, stitches in my forehead from my eyebrow to my hairline, and dirt smudged all over me. I let down the remnants of my braid and run my fingers through my hair, bits of debris falling out.

"So I need a shower,” I confirm. “You're not looking too hot yourself, you know.”

He chuckles and sits up, his arm in a sling. "We were pushing back to your location, then…" he motions to his arm, "It missed the joint, just a flesh wound. Doc says they'll have me up and running in a week or so. You, on the other hand, should have taken them up on their offer…"

I cross my arms over my chest. "No!" I snap back, immediately regretting my tone. "I can't…" I say, looking away, Gale huffs and throws a pillow at me.

"Stubborn as a mule… as  _always_ ," he grumbles. I smile, though the upturning of my cheeks makes me wince.

"'S’been a while since we've had a sleep over…" he laments. Gale's and my relationship might seem romantic on the outside. All of our affection for one another, however, is strictly platonic, like the fondness a younger sibling has for his or her older sibling.

_I leave for Philadelphia at nine am… ten hours from now. My bags were packed and in the morning, I would leave for Basic. A million ‘what if's’ swirling around my head, I finally decided to get up and go for a walk. My brain led me straight to the sturdy pine I used to climb into Gale's bedroom so many times. His light was off, but I knew he'd still be awake. I was an expert at climbing this tree, a master even. I knew every branch, every knot, everything._

_I slid his window up, still missing the screen I knocked out so many years ago. There he was, shoving a pair of socks in his bag._

" _Was wondering when you would show up," he smirked. "I set the alarm for seven so you could head back in enough time." He tossed me a grey t-shirt and shorts before turning around so I could change._

_We didn't say anything as we climbed into bed together, there was no need. As I hid in his arms, he kissed me first on the forehead, then lightly on the lips._

And I felt nothing. Kissing Gale is nothing like kissing Peeta, or every time he kissed my forehead and cheek. Whenever Peeta and I kiss, I only feel a hunger for more.

"Your boy's fine," Gale teases, causing me to blush.

"Peeta's not my  _boy_ , he saved my life…" I lift the blanket up a little to examine the stitches on my leg. It's not terrible, though I'll definitely have a "battle scar" up most of my thigh.

I hear the other side of the curtain  _woosh_ open. Upon looking up, I pull the thin white sheet to my chest. "Katniss…" Peeta breathes, crossing the distance between us before pulling me into a tight hug which I reciprocate, tighter than his though because he doesn't have damaged ribs.

"Thank you…" I whisper. It's not enough, and it never will be. This man pulled me out from under a building and cared for me while we were entombed in the remnants during a dust storm.

"You would do the same for me," he murmurs. He's right - I would, though unlike him, I’d probably freeze up. He has a bundle in his arms. "I'd give you these now, but you still have rubble in your hair." I glare at him. I can smell myself, sweaty with the faint aroma of dirt and blood.

I take his hand in mine, knowing we only have a short while until the affection we shared in our rubble tomb will fade into memory once we return to our duties. Peeta doesn't shy away from my touch, giving my bandaged hand a light squeeze. "They're sending us to Baghdad," I say with fear in my voice. Baghdad isn't an all-out war zone, but much more chaotic than Fallujah.

" _You_  should go back to the States, look at you," he says, smiling a little as he looks me over. The blanket is still pulled up from me examining my leg, leaving me in front of him in my underwear for the second time in two days. I don't feel self-conscious though, even with my split lip, black and blue face, and stitches holding my limbs together.

"Told you so!" Gale laughs from his bed. I return his pillow to him a little harder than I should have.

"Major Abernathy threw out the papers to send me home," I grin. "You're stuck with me." Peeta musses my greasy hair before tucking a piece behind my ear. "Gale's too. Apparently Baghdad needs more snipers."

A nurse comes by to check the stitches in my leg, drawing the curtain around the small space again, giving Peeta and I some pseudo privacy. She takes my hand in hers, removing the IV that's been hydrating me.

"Doc says you're free to move around once you get dressed. He advises you to get showered and will be sending someone in to make sure you don't pass out in there."

"I don't need a babysitter…" I argue.

"Sergeant Everdeen, perhaps you shouldn't argue," Peeta cautions, the professional wall between us going back up, only his fingers are still laced with mine. Does she notice? Did he forget to let go?

"She's in giving testimony, so you have about a half hour." The nurse pushes her way through the curtain to address Gale. "Sergeant Hawthorne, Doc says you're free to go to your meal, though you should be back by 2000 so someone can examine your arm."

"Yeah, yeah…" There's some rustling as Gale pokes his head in, "Hey, Mellark," he greets, which Peeta returns still holding my hand. "Anything you want from your room, Katniss?"

"My shower tote, some underwear and my computer," I reply, looking around for a plug. There is one perfectly situated nearby so I'll be able to keep my laptop plugged in all night. Gale nods and leaves after securing the curtains.

The silence between us is uncomfortable for once. "Katniss," Peeta starts in his all too cautious voice as if treading on eggshells, "I'll understand if everything you said yesterday was from your concussion. I just want you to know…" he pauses, sorrow in his eyes.

"Kiss me…" I whisper so no one can hear. He doesn't hesitate. At first, his lips are cautious before his hand intertwines with the dirty hair at the back of my head. He leans into me only slightly as to not cause any unneeded pain. The feeling is indescribable, his intoxicating taste drawing me in more. I grow eager, demanding more of his mouth, but we pull away from each other upon hearing a noise in the medical ward.

I blush a little and bite my lower lip, wincing as I put my tooth into a stitch. "Ouch," I hiss, touching my finger to where it hurt. It grows damp with blood, but I shrug it off.

"What do we do?" I ask quietly.

How can we expect to continue as we had before?  He brings a tissue up to my lip, blotting the blood off my chin. Suddenly, I'm aware of everything - my stitches, my hideous bruise, and how absolutely filthy I am.

"What do you mean?" I narrow my eyes, he knows exactly what I mean…

"Don't play coy with me, boy," I poke at his side. "Clearly, we can't be  _just friends._ " Am I asking him out?

He opens his mouth to speak, but the curtain opens. "Sergeant Everdeen, I was told to bring you these," It’s Cresta, holding everything I asked for from Gale. "And to 'make sure you don't fall on your ass in the shower.'"

Peeta stands up, torn between staying with me and running for the hills. He holds my shoulder for a second before speaking, "You get washed up; I'll bring you back some food." I let out the breath that I was holding in and nod, trying to get up. As my bare feet hit the ground, my concussion and stitches get the best of me. My knees and jelly-like legs give out, but Peeta is instantly there to catch me.

"I'm fine," I say before he can ask, and he leaves. Grabbing the hospital gown folded at the foot of my bed, I tie it around myself with some help as Cresta sets down my computer and picks up my clothes, "I can-" I start, but she interrupts.

"Oh no, ma'am, don't worry," she says, smiling sweetly. _How much did she see with those bright eyes?_

The water stings the various scrapes and shallow cuts covering my body. I'm far more bruised than I originally thought – the deep purple and even some black giving me almost giraffe-like spots. The shower water runs off me in a rusty brown color, then just brown, and finally clear as the blood and dirt leave my body. I gingerly wash my hair, cursing as a stream of water shoots perfectly into the stitches on my forehead.

"Everything okay?" Annie asks. Her back is turned, though I told her she didn't have to act so awkward.

I hiss a little, now there's soap in my stitches. "Yeah, fine, it just… stings…" Washing my body is another challenge in itself. There’s still a fair amount of dried blood in the crevices of my skin and because of my ribs, bending over is almost impossible. My injured leg makes crouching impossible as well. I finally decide to lift my leg up on the metal bar that runs along the showers. I teeter on my toes, grasping onto the bar every so often to prevent myself from falling on my face.

"Cresta…" I start, wringing out my hair. "Why didn't you tell anyone that something was going to happen?"

I watch her stiffen as she grasps her ponytail, "I um… well… I didn't think they would do anything. They were just joking, you know?" She sighs. "Well… I guess not." I pat my stitches dry and dress myself. "I didn't know that Marvel was going to kill the little girl. I don't think he did, either…"

I wince when they shine the little flashlight in my eyes for what must be the hundredth time. "Ah, there we go, her pupils are reacting, she's cleared to stay." Is that it? If my eyes were still buggy, would I be sent home?

I look over at Peeta sitting in the corner of the room. He returned shortly after I finished my shower. We still can't talk, though, since the doctor and nurse are buzzing around me checking my stitches, reapplying ointment, and checking my eyes.

"I'm fine, really," I tell them. The doctor is examining my arm.

"You're going to have to pass your sniper test again. They've decided to bundle in your counter sniper exam with the sniper since we don't have the time or resources," he explains.

I nod. "Wait, what?" I snap. "I got a cut on my arm and a bump on the head, I’m perfectly fine!"

"Sorry, Everdeen, just policy." I huff and Peeta shoots me an apologetic glance. "To be fair, Hawthorne does, too."

"Yeah, but he had  _metal in his shoulder_."

The doctor chuckles, "And you had a building on top of you. It's just protocol, Sergeant Everdeen." Once I'm slathered in Neosporin and had a light shined in my eye at least three more times, Peeta and I are left alone.

"Katniss," he starts, pulling his chair next to my bed. His hand finds mine and our fingers lace together. "We can't walk around here holding hands and kissing. If we want to start something together, we'll have to sneak around, at least until we get back to the States." I nod slightly. "Or they'll separate us like they did with Finnick and Annie…” _Well, kind of… they found a way around that._ "But you’re right - I doubt we can go back to being 'just friends' after everything," he finishes. I nod slowly and lean back into my bed, smiling faintly.

"We should have done this years ago," I chuckle before hearing footsteps approaching the enclosed space. I pull my hand away and Peeta brings his to his lap before the curtain is pushed open.

The nurse is holding a needle. "Tetanus," she smiles, wiping my arm with alcohol and pushing the needle into my arm. Once she's gone, I open up my computer to check my e-mail.

"Good… no one called home," I sigh in relief.  The only email I have is from my mother, telling me that she and Prim are moving in two weeks.

Peeta leans his head over and rests it on my shoulder so I bring my hand up to his hair. "You still need a haircut," I tease. He just looks at me and shrugs.


	9. The Gambit

**Chapter 9 – The Gambit**

Gale doesn’t come back to the medical ward, as he's technically free to sleep in his own room. After Peeta left for guard duty, which he’ll serve with Cresta until I’m cleared, I feel isolated.

I consider opening Skype to get a hold of Prim, but she makes the decision for me as soon as I turn my computer on.

_Skype - Receiving Call from Primrose_

I select voice only. "Hey, Prim," I wave.

"I can't see your face, Katniss. Is something wrong with your camera?"

"No, little duck. Promise not to freak, okay?"

"I'm not promising anything, Katniss…" I hit the button to turn on my webcam. "What happened? Are those stitches? Katniss, what did you do?"

"I told you not to freak! It's nothing! I was hit by a stray bullet… then a building fell on top of me."

"A… What? That was you?! There was a reporter in Fallujah saying there was combat and two Marines were missing. Mom knew it was you, she knew!" Her voice increases in pitch.

"Prim! Calm down, I'm fine. Just a few stitches and this," I explain, pointing to the bruises on my cheeks. "I'll be up and running in a few days." I decide not to tell her about the concussion, as I'm not sure the speakers on my computer could handle that octave.

" _Katniss_!" she whines in that pleading voice I knew so well.

"Let's talk about you. How's school going?"

"School's fine… A building fell on you?" she asks, her voice calmer now. I guess knowing I’m alive is all she needed.

"Yeah… I still don't know how, but I was thrown back and when I came to, I was pinned under rubble," I shrug, pawing at the stitches on my leg, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

"How long were you down there?" Her voice is laggy, due to the unpredictability of satellite internet.

"Like… almost a day?" I answer. My hand is now at my arm, remembering the fire from the original injury, then the alcohol in it.

"Pinned under rubble… How were you not crushed?" She leans forward, her pixelated face curious. I'm safe, so I guess I can tell her about how I almost died.

"Someone came and found me…" I sigh, remembering the relief I felt when I first heard Peeta's voice, "And took care of me while we were stuck down there," I smile faintly.

"You like him!" my sister teases, pointing a finger at me through the camera.

"What? Well…" I groan, bringing my hands to my face. Girl talk is so foreign to me. "Yes, okay, I  _like_  him. I've  _liked_  him since we were kids…"

"Uh huh…." It took a second for my words to register on Prim's face. "Wait… you’ve only had one crush since you were a kid…" I just smile and I'm sure it’s a dopey one. "Is that even allowed? Are you going to get in trouble? Katniss!"

"It's fine, Prim. Listen, I have to get some sleep. My head's pounding and I think the nurse wants me to lie down." She nods.

"I love you, Katniss. Be safe!"

"I will, and good luck with the move. Hopefully this one will be permanent…"

The medical staff wake me up every few hours to make sure my brain isn't oozing out my ears until I force myself to stay awake at 0700.

"Can I leave today?" I ask hopefully. It's lonely and quiet in here and I'm always fearful seeing someone coming in on a stretcher.

The nurse smiles and takes my blood pressure, "That's not up to me, it's-"

"Here, sweetheart," Major Abernathy tosses a white blouse, navy pants with a red stripe and shiny leather shoes on the bed. "Put these on and pull yourself together, the General's here.

"She's not well yet, the doctor said-"

Abernathy cuts her off again. "Do  _you_  want to explain that to General Paylor?" The nurse removes the cuff and Haymitch winks at me before throwing the socks in my face.

"Get dressed, kid. We're running late if you want to eat."

I'm not sure why a lowly Staff Sergeant like me needs to be at a meeting with a General, or needs to be in dress blues for that matter.

Abernathy still hasn't fled the room. "You could… you know, turn around, or leave so I can get dressed?" He snorts and turns around.

"Not like you weren't laying on the bed in your underwear yesterday," he mutters. I pull on the white undershirt and button up the dress shirt before pulling on the pants. Naturally, the shocks are almost impossible. I have to lie back on the bed and lift myself up to get them on. Fortunately the shoes are slip-on's with low heels.

"How do I look?" I ask, putting the finishing touches on my braid.

"Like a Marine that spent a day under a building who's getting over a concussion." I expected him to take a jab at me, "Now come on, I'm hungry!" he barks.

I hurry out of the medical ward. I'll have to go back for my computer and the clothes I'm borrowing from Peeta.

"I'm not going to be caught dead eating with a lowly Staff Sergeant such as yourself, so be at Command in thirty minutes."

"But… Major Abernathy… sir, they're all going to stare at me!" I plead, no matter how pathetic I sound.

He starts to smirk, "Listen, sweetheart, they haven't stopped staring at you since you got here. Enjoy it, plus the bruises and stitches make you look tougher." I roll my eyes as he walks off, clearly finished with the conversation.

As I get my food, I see the rest of my platoon sitting together, though now there's only a handful of us left. I take a seat across from Peeta. "Hey," I tell them quietly, though by their dumbfounded expressions, I can tell they weren't expecting to see me. "What?" I ask, destroying the plastic safety seal on my hot sauce.

"You're supposed to be in the infirmary until tomorrow. What are you doing up, and in blues?"

I look around the table and notice they're all dressed up. "I wanted to match you guys, plus Major Abernathy threw them at me and said the General was here," I shrug and empty my tiny Tabasco bottle on my eggs and potatoes. "Please don't gawk at me, eat before your food gets colder," I say as my eyes meet Peeta's. He looks concerned but smiles faintly as I begin to eat.

"So what did I miss? Wasn't there a new platoon coming in yesterday?"

Annie smiles and nods, "Yeah, but they had to fly from the States to here with General Paylor on board." She sips at her water.

"As if the flight over here couldn't get any more tense," Thresh jokes, stabbing at his food. It's strange how friendly we’ve all become now that Cato, Clove, Glimmer and Marvel are gone. Marvel is still being held prisoner somewhere, which is much better than he deserves.

"I don’t know… my flight over here wasn't too bad. Everyone just slept and kept to themselves as I meandered around the plane," I tell them, stuffing my face, now remembering how quickly food can become scarce.

"How far can you go? They're not very big planes…" Peeta asks, but I just shrug and smile.

"You could say I made some people uneasy," I chuckle nervously.

Before long we've finished our food and coffee and head to Command. As Annie and Thresh leave, I hold Peeta back since he was unusually quiet throughout the whole meal and had been giving me strange looks.

"Everything okay?" I ask him quietly once we’re out of the busy room.

He chuckles and runs his hand over his freshly buzzed head. "I should be asking you that," he says as I limp alongside him and put my hand on his shoulder farthest away from me. He looks at me, shocked. In normal cases, this would be a major violation.

"I have stitches going all up and down my leg, so please be my crutch," I joke.  He puts his hand around my waist, helping me as I limp.

"You're going to cause a lot of trouble someday," he smiles. As we reach Command, I reluctantly pull away from him.

"One can only hope…" The door is heavier than I remember, and we take the last two open seats across the room from one another. Around the table are faces I've never seen before mixed with a few I've seen in passing, plus the few people I actually trust.

My seat is next to Gale's. When I sit down, he leans over, " _You_ should be resting," he whispers.

"So should you," I say, sticking my tongue out. His arm is still in a sling and there are dark circles under his eyes.

Without warning, he’s pushed slightly towards the table and I see a hand extended behind his back. "You must be Katniss,” she says, introducing herself.  “I’m Johanna Mason." I smile and shake her hand; she seems nice. "Nice face…I was going to go with the whole 'at war' look, but apparently I can't pull it off!" I laugh a little. Okay, she's a little blunt.

We all stand at attention as the General enters. "At ease," she chuckles as we all take our seats once more. "Now, I wish my scheduled visit didn't coincide with such troubling events," she begins, lifting the corner of the stack of papers in front of her.

She's well decorated, with dark eyes and hair pulled back into a tight bun. Though she's young, she looks authoritative. It's obvious she wears those three stars for a reason.

"Sergeant Everdeen," she says. Everyone's eyes are on me and I feel my tongue get dry.

"Yes, ma'am?" I try to answer without sounding weak.

"You were directly in charge of the Privates in question. Can you tell me how a plot like this can go undetected?"

I grip the table, biting at my stitches. "Ma'am, a plot like this shouldn't go under the radar. A Sergeant should be more attentive of those he or she is in charge of," I answer clearly. "I admit that I failed in this aspect of my duty, and respect anyone's decision to demote me if they see fit."

There's a murmur around the room, and the General just smiles, "A demotion will not be necessary, Everdeen. We cannot expect your eyes to be everywhere, but we'll discuss that later. For now, those who remain in the 74th will be transferred to the 75th in Baghdad. Sergeant Hawthorne," she says as everyone turns to look at Gale, "You will be leaving tonight with Major Odair, Corporal Cresta, and Corporal Thresh. Lieutenant Enobaria will be awaiting your arrival."

I don't pay much attention to the rest of the meeting until she announces that non-officers are dismissed. I stand up slowly, afraid to move too fast. "Not so fast, you two," I glance over to Peeta, who sits back down as well.

General Paylor takes a seat at the head of the table, flipping through her papers again. "Sergeant Mellark, you were in the city last night to speak with the father… What were the results of that meeting?"

I’m confused. Peeta didn't go into the city last night.  _He was on guard duty, wasn’t he?_

"He wants Marvel to be tried back in the States," Peeta replies, crossing his arms over his chest, "Where ‘the cameras and his own people will shame him for his actions.'"

"We were already planning that… which is why we're here," Paylor says, downing a glass of water. "Marvel’s trial will start next week. He's been given an attorney as per our Constitution, though I'll tell you now that their main defense will be that he thought she had a bomb on her. The enemy has been known for using that tactic before."

I slam my fist on the table. "That's horseshit!" I hiss, my mind going back to Rue's final moments.

 _"Sergeant,"_ is all Paylor needs to say. I don't need to be told twice that outbursts could lead to a demotion or disciplinary action. I sit up straight, or as straight as I can with my ribs. "This is unorthodox,” she starts,  “But General Coin and I both believe the best way to make sure he is convicted is to have two eye witnesses take the stand. President Snow handed down these orders himself."

"We… we're going home?" Peeta asks. He sounds almost hopeful, but as equally confused as I am.

"Not for long, only until his trial is over. You two leave for Washington as soon as possible. Since the trial will be held in DC, we'll provide a hotel room, reimbursement for food and anything else you need to buy while there, as well as a rental car…" her brow furrows. Losing this many people is devastating to the mission.

She hands us two pieces of paper. "This says Germany… and Philadelphia, aren't we going on a-"

"You will be taking a military plane to Böblingen, Germany, where they will deliver you to Stuttgart. There aren’t any flights going back to the States for a week. By then it'll be too late, so we had to improvise. You go from Stuttgart to Munich, then from Munich to Philadelphia…"

I cut her off there. "Is there any chance we could drive from Philadelphia? It’s only like three hours and we won't be needed for a few days after that," I pause as she looks at me curiously. "It's only three hours and I've driven it many times. I'm sorry, ma’am, I just really hate planes," I bite my stitches again, wincing.

"I'll make a few calls,” she says, nodding. “This event has strained the country’s view on us, as well as our operations. While in uniform, you two are expected to be the embodiment of what the Marine Corps is supposed to represent. No plots to kill civilians or to start combat. No shooting little girls, but honorable, well-trained Marines," she insists, leaning back in her chair. “And who knows, if you impress myself or General Coin, you both may see yourselves back in Quantico at Officer Candidate School. It's nothing like Parris Island, but the two of you show impressive skill across several fields, particularly the ability to think straight in adverse situations…" That means Second Lieutenant and onward.  More responsibility, more pay, and the guarantee of another tour.

"Thank you, General," Peeta finally says as I snap back to the meeting, "When do we need to be ready by?"

She looks at the clock. "One hour, is that enough time?"

"Wait, my family lives in DC…” I say. “Would it be okay to see them while we're there or would we be considered AWOL?"

Paylor smiles a little. "You both may do as you please when you are not needed by the court. As I said before, however, when in uniform you are to make us proud. You're both dismissed; make sure you get your weapons."

I smirk, "I can't take a sniper rifle on a passenger plane."

"You have your permit and all clearances to carry it. You're not a private citizen." she confirms.  Paylor stands to leave and salutes us. We mirror her movements and leave Command in a hurry.

I pack everything I brought with me in one duffle bag. I won't be returning to Fallujah after the trial, so every tiny piece of me must be removed from this space, which isn’t much.

I change from my blues into a clean, well-worn combat uniform. My boots are messy, and I have no way to get them in the bag without destroying everything.

Suddenly, my door swings open. "I guess this is goodbye," Major Abernathy says, letting himself in without knocking.

"What if I was in my underwear, sir?" I joke. In his hands are three gun cases.

"Not like you weren't on a hospital bed in your skivvies just yesterday," he teases back. I roll my eyes and take my gun cases from him. "Oh no, you're not carrying these with your ribs. Get your bag, let's go." I shove my computer in my pack, giving him a dirty look.

"Listen, kid," he starts as I sling my bag over my shoulder, wincing at the weight, "This is important. I know you know, but I have to tell you again. We've only been over here a month and the country seems to think we're all batshit crazy, which is why this trial is happening so fast. The defense is going to do  _everything_ to discredit both of you. When you get back, you have three days off to get over your jetlag," he smirks as we walked down the hall. "Do whatever, see the sights, see your sweetheart," I smile faintly, "Hell, get wasted, just not in uniform." I nod. "After that, drive down to Quantico and retake your sniper test, get your eyes checked, everything."

"But I'm not cleared," I point out, adjusting my bag. We're getting strange stares from the men and women rushing down the hall.

"I know. Your ribs will be bad for weeks, but the concussion should be fine by then. That brings us to," he pauses. Around here, you tend to forget days. "You leave for Germany now… catch the plane tomorrow morning, land in the States tomorrow… then for whatever reason  _drive_  to DC."

"I want a cheesesteak," I tell him simply.

"Get one in Washington…"

"You've never been to Philadelphia, have you?" I tease as we open the door to the hot Iraqi summer. I would never admit this to anyone, but I love the dry heat. Pennsylvania and Maryland summers are muggy and oppressive, and I've managed to spend the last four in a dark uniform.

"Can't say I have. Been to Pittsburgh,  though, practically the same thing," he says and I shudder.

"Well… basically you'll be in the States by Monday, and the trial starts  _next_  Monday. Make sure you're in your evening blues, everything polished and ironed. Bring your hat, but don't wear it in the courtroom. You won't be needed every day, but you can go watch if you want. Though this is a media clusterfuck," he huffs as we approach the plane. "Enjoy the protesters, but stay away from the big buildings. You know, the White House, the Capitol Building... unless you want anti-war nuts to tar and feather you."

"That's a little old school," I note as we walk up the stairs. Peeta is already inside, having probably been rushed out like me.

"Yeah, yeah, just don't do anything stupid. See you in Baghdad once this is all over," he finishes. I set my bag down and go for my gun cases.

I look over Abernathy's shoulder and see Gale walking from the range, "Gale!" I shout, nearly leaping off the plane.

"Sergeant Everdeen!" Major Abernathy scolds as I run to my friend. I crash into him but he regains his balance and hugs me.

"I don't have a lot of time. Peeta and I are headed back to the States for Marvel's trial. Oh, hey Johanna!" Gale's girlfriend rolls her eyes.

"You know that's just for show… they already got him," I just shrug.

"You just take care, okay? Don't do anything stupid. I'll be back in Iraq before you notice I'm gone!"

Gale ruffles my hair and smiles. "Take care, Catnip. I'll notice you're gone the second you take off, since the guys will stop talking about 'what they'd do to you.'"

I roll my eyes as he pulls me in for another hug, "Knock 'em dead…" he whispers as I head back to the plane.

"How many bags do you have?" Peeta asks. I notice he has three more than I do.

"I was stationed where we're flying to. It was kind of like… being back at Lejeune, days off, casual clothes. Went straight from there to Fallujah," I explain.

 Peeta just shrugs and hands me a bottle of Vicodin, probably for my head and ribs.

"When were you last stateside?" I ask and dry swallow one pill. The plane lurches, pushing me into him.

"Sixteen months ago?" he shrugs, taking a sip of water, his elbows resting on his knees. "I came home from Afghanistan, then went to Germany, now Iraq. After this, though, I'm hoping to spend the rest of my contract at Lejeune working intelligence." He sits back, resting his hands behind his head. "Then who knows.”

I nod, leaning into his chest as he places an arm around me. We have the whole cabin to ourselves, seeing as no one is leaving Iraq for Germany right now. He looks down at me, smiling faintly before lifting my chin up. Our lips meet in a sweet, chaste kiss.

"A whole week in Washington… basically on leave… no prying eyes," he whispers before our lips meet again.

"A few days… then I have to go to retake my sniper test at Quantico," I yawn, the Vicodin kicking in. I blink once, and when I open my eyes again, I’m in the sniper’s nest.

" _Target has a bomb, eliminate immediately!" I hear in my ear. I reposition my gun, "Target rounding the corner," I pull back the bolt. I couldn't get a good look, as the person was covered in so many layers of fabric, "Everdeen!" my ear hisses. Without hesitation, I pull the trigger, right through the head. I watch the body fall to the ground._

" _Rue!" I cry, seeing her cold dead face through the scope, in her hand was "To Kill a Mockingbird.” Everyone I cared about, and even those I started to care for seem to walk from the shadows. My mother, my father, Prim, Peeta, Madge, Abernathy, Odair, Cresta, Thresh, Gale, and Johanna. They're all looking up at me with eyes full of hatred. I just killed that baby girl. She’s only 10 years old and I put a bullet through her head._

_At that moment, all of them were caught in a fiery explosion stemming from Rue's dead body._

" _No!" I shout, but I can't move to them. They're screaming, mutilated beyond repair and cursing me for doing that to them._

I jolt awake, taking up six chairs along the right side of the plane. "Katniss…" Peeta coos softly, kneeling in front of me and taking my hand in his, "You were screaming…"

And that's how they started.


	10. Explorations and Crossing the Line

**Chapter 10 – Explorations and Crossing the Line**

Peeta doesn't press me about the nightmare, but he should, as would anyone. Instead, he holds me as I sob until my eyes run dry, stroking my braid as I stare blankly across the plane. "We'll be landing soon…” he says. “It’s late, though, so we may only be able to find food and crash…"

"Can I stay with you tonight?" I whisper.  I know he's smiling. I don't know how I can tell; maybe it's a change in his energy, maybe he just smiles with his whole body, if that's even possible.

"Sure," he whispers back. His fingers find my stitches, tracing the threads once or twice. "How are you feeling?" he asks, poking at my nose playfully.

"Numb," I answer truthfully. I'm physically and emotionally drained and we aren't even in the States yet. Maybe those few days off will be good for me, for us. Time alone, out of uniform with Peeta Mellark. I smile faintly, the joy lighting up my darkness as a candle would in a large cavern.

"I have so many places I want to take you…" I whisper as he unties my hair, running his fingers through the strands. "First, we're stopping off in Philly. The Major may make fun of me, but I know I won't get a good cheesesteak down in North Carolina." I roll over so I'm looking up at him. "We're not going to Pat's or Geno's, they're not as good as they want you to think. Tony Luke's…" I let out a content sigh, "That's where you go." I feel a tear coming to my eye. Embarrassed, I immediately sit up and keep my back to him until I get the next sentence out. "That's where my Dad would take me during the summer when we'd go see the Phillies." I say, wiping my eyes. I never talk about my Dad with anyone. After a deep breath or two, I turn and face him again.

"Can't say I've ever seen more of Philly besides the airport,” he says. I remember the hallow, grey building. Even full of people, it's always felt empty to me. Maybe that's because it was the last place where I saw my Dad alive.

Peeta listens to me ramble about places in Washington and my mother's apartment. "There is one stop I need to make though…" I say, fumbling with my dog tags. I'll have to get new ones with our new division on them once we return to Baghdad.

Before I know it, we've landed in Germany. Peeta insists on carrying my heavy clothes bag due to my ribs and the worsening limp in my injured leg, but I fight him tooth and nail as he tries to take my guns away from me. I know I'll have to give them up on the way back to Philadelphia, but still.

"We're a small facility," a woman who's name I don't catch tells us, "Under two thousand Marines." This building is a lot nicer than Dreamland, cleaner and quieter and no layer of thin, cream-colored dust on everything. "Though you've been here before, _Sergeant_  Mellark," she says, looking back at us and winking at him. I narrow my eyes.

 _Lady, I could give you a nice hole in your head from over a thousand yards,_  I think before shaking off the angry thought.

"I'm sure you know  _every_  private spot here," she continues, snapping her gum. In my mind, I'm tackling her to the ground for the salacious comments directed at my boyfriend. _Wait, is he my boyfriend? We've never established everything. Ugh!_

"Not particularly,” he says flatly. “Though I will be showing Sergeant Everdeen the firing range since she has her sniper retest a few days before the trial." The woman opens a door for us. There are two beds - one made, one unmade with the sheets pushed down to the bottom. The clothes strewn about the room tell me I'm invading someone's space.

"For you, Sergeant Everdeen; don't worry about the roommate. She's on leave this weekend, so you'll have the space to yourself.” Peeta sets my bag down and rests his hand on my shoulder.

I look up into his bright blue eyes. "I'll be back in a few to take you to the range," he says. I nod, smiling a little and he's gone.

"How is someone so messy?" I whisper, sitting down on the bed I'm sure I won't sleep in tonight.

I leave the door open and set my cases down on the bed. The first thing I check is my handgun, nothing much to be messed with there. "I think you're confused," a voice starts. "What are you doing in Wiress' room?" he says as I jump. "Why are you in desert camo?" I look up to see a man wearing a lab coat and thick glasses.

"I- I'm sorry!" I exclaim, snapping the case closed. "I'm just here for the night! I'm leaving for the States in the morning! For…for the trial!" It doesn't dawn on me that maybe he doesn't know about the killing, but he nods in understanding. "Sergeant Everdeen," I say, holding out my scratched up hand, hoping he takes it and it dissolves our tension.

"Bernard Thompson, or Beetee," he replies, shaking my hand. "Ah yes…the trial. I examined the rifle used in the killing just last night. Beautiful thing, really, though bastardized in brutish hands," he shrugs and walks away without a goodbye. Someone walks by in old fashioned green and browns meant for the forests, giving me the once over before whistling.

"I love a lady in uniform," he croons, leaning on the door frame as I open my sniper rifle case, "I love a lady out of uniform more though, I'm-" I pull out the gun, holding it by the stock, and give him a stern look. "Going to go…" I roll my eyes as he dashes away.

I close the door after I deem my baby passable. I put her away and open up my clothes bag, deciding since maybe I see so many people here in blues, I won't stand out in mine. I pull out the white shirt and blue slacks but something's wrong… they're way too big.

"Peeta…" I groan, stuffing his blues back in the bag after running my thumb over his name tag.

"Yes?" I jump at his voice. There he is, standing in my doorway.

"You gave me your bag. What am I supposed to do with your baggy clothes?" I ask. Then he says something I never expected to hear.

"Take them off, of course," he tells me, as if this is the obvious answer I should have come to the second I realized his clothes were in my room.

"I… umm…" I pick up his bag by the strap and hand it to him. "Here," I stammer. My cheeks are burning, which only makes his cheeky grin wider. I grab my rifle and handgun case with one hand, my baby in the other, afraid to leave her alone in the room.

Peeta drops his bag on the floor and unbuttons his jacket. I find my mouth growing dry as his fingers pop each button. I don't know what compels me to do it, but as he removes an article of clothing I mirror him until we're both in our underwear, watching each other's movements like hawks.

His massive hands find my cheeks and his lips are on mine sloppily. We back up until I’m against the door, which he locks with a soft click, but we don't move. His lips are soft but passionate, driven even.  I freeze, my hands pressing against the wood door before I cautiously place my hands on his hips. I’m terrified that he can sense how inexperienced I am and will think less of me. It's been years since I've been kissed like this. Actually, Gale never kissed me with such force, such passion. One of Peeta's hands drops from my face and lightly runs down my neck, then touches my collarbones.  I'm acutely nervous of his every touch as he reaches my sports bra, my nipples instantly going hard from his touch.

A faint moan escapes my mouth as he massages my chest with a tender firmness that makes me melt.  I'm wet…no, soaked.  I wonder if he knows I've dreamed about this for ages…

I part my lips for his tongue which I feel brushing my teeth before he hikes up one of my legs, resting it on his hip so his erection touches my wetness. Oh God, now he knows I'm putty in his hands. I want those strong calloused hands of his to touch every inch of me.

He pushes in a little so his chest is on mine, adding too much pressure on my bruised ribs, which makes me wail in pain and sink to the floor.

"Katniss! Oh shit!" He's down at my level now, blushing fiercely. "I'm sorry, I got carried away, I shouldn't have-" I put a finger to his lips as I catch my breath, both from the kiss and from the gripping pain.

"Thank you," I whisper. I feel more at ease, uplifted… and happy.  I'm still blushing fiercely as he helps me up from the ground as I dig out my blues so we can blend in a little better.

"I'm sorry if I came on too strong, it's just that…" I stop him there.

"I've only ever been with one other guy… and that was longer ago than I'm willing to tell you," I blurt out, still in my underwear.

I'm hyperaware of his presence in this room, his chest millimeters from my back. "That's alright, we have some time to ourselves once we get to the States…" His fingers trace my spine as he continues, "I never thought I could be this brave with you in the room in your underwear." He smiles as he wraps his arms around my waist, though I stiffen a little.

"The first time you saw me in Iraq, I was in my bra and pants to make Cato uncomfortable," I remind him quietly as I pull on my undershirt, breaking the spine tingling contact. He mirrors my moves again until I go for the buttons of my shirt, fumbling with my daft fingers.

"Here," he starts in a calm voice as he buttons my shirt for me. I want to pull away, tell him I can do it myself. I could have, but I'm secretly hoping his hand will brush my breast in the process.

_I'm a perverted sixteen year old all over again._

I'm much hungrier than I thought when we get to dinner, finishing off my food before Peeta even settles in his seat. "People are staring…" I whisper as I use my finger to clean my plate.

"Two Sergeants they've never seen before eating dinner together, the one basically licking her plate clean after using two bottles of hot sauce," he teases.  I stick my tongue out, "You'd stare, too. Just wait until you get on the range," he says. I smile and nudge my case with my foot. I left my sniper rifle in the room, seeing as the range here was only about 100 yards, hardly worth the time.

"Maybe it's my face…" I mumble, feeling the burning of my stitches. "I look like a domestic abuse victim." The bruise on my face had since grown green and blended a little better with my olive skin, but I still had stitches going from my eyebrow to my hairline, and two in my lips.

I started playing with my braid, as there was something I knew I needed to find out. "Peeta, what are we?" I ask.

He chews and swallows the food he put in his mouth as I asked this, "Marines?"

I roll my eyes and rub my lips with the tip of my braid. "No… I mean what are  _we_? You and I? What is this," I motion back and forth between him and I.

"What do  _you_  want it to be?" he inquires, chugging his soda. I shift uncomfortably, as this is territory I've never ventured into before. His eyes soften, changing from amused to concerned. " _I'd_  like to start dating," he starts, "Once we get back we'll have to be quiet about it, not do anything risky that'll get you sent home." I nod; he's talking about pregnancy.

"I won't be on the base much…"

"That makes it easier to hide. How will you stand it? In a hole for days at a time?" He's done eating but we continue to sit there as the mess hall clears out.

"You adapt,” I say. “It depends on how many are in the hole with you. If it's three, you have three eight hour shifts; one sleeping and the other keeping the one on gun company. If there are two, you usually have about four hours of entertainment when they're not trying to sleep. The other eight hours you try to read, or do something else quiet that'll keep you entertained," I smile as he nods.

"Why did you choose to become a sniper?" he asks.

I let out a long dejected sigh, "It was my Dad… He was a sniper, so I'm trying to do him proud." We both smile a little, "Now come on, my boyfriend promised to show me a firing range."

"So you have a boyfriend now? Will I have to fight him for your hand?" I just roll my eyes at his teasing.

"Something's wrong…" I grumble. I’m hitting every target, but where I once hit right at the X in the center, now I'm a little off. I pull out my ear plugs and pull the target back. Everything here is so nice and high tech, no targets propped up against hay bales like where I learned to shoot, or dirt mounds like in Iraq.

"Your stance is too closed," I'm so focused on my targets that I didn't hear Peeta sneak up on me. "Here," he says, positioning the stock of my rifle at my shoulder and turning me, nudging my feet further apart. Suddenly, I feel his groin press into my backside and want to melt right here.

 _Dammit!_   I curse myself. _What is this boy doing to me?_

"Where'd a baker's son learn to shoot?" I ask as he positions me.

"My brothers and I are really into paintball. As the youngest, it was either get good or come home covered in welts." I smirk a little, "Now try," he says. I miss again, a little worse than before.

"I don't get it… My scope is right, my stance… unless… my concussion, it changed my eyes," I conclude. He makes a face as I look up at him. I use my nail and adjust the scope only slightly before getting back in position. I pull the trigger, this time hitting the target perfectly.

"This… could be bad…" I groan as I put the safety on and set my gun down. "If I don't have twenty-twenty vision, they'll fail me!" The realization is like a stone in my stomach.

"You won't fail…" he coos, stroking my arms. “You just need to practice a little more, adjust your scope. You have this, Katniss… I know you do." He kisses the back of my head. I trust him.

Back in his room, we strip from our blues and climb into bed in our underwear. There is a sense of awkwardness as we lay together, neither moving to touch the other. I decide to make the first move in our romantic game of chicken. I drape my leg over his hips so I can get closer, while his strong hand runs along the back of my thigh. I've wanted his touch for so long... I shiver into him.

"I've wanted this for years…" he whispers my thoughts out loud, "It doesn't have to be sex, I just want you, in my arms…" He kisses the top of my head. "Because when you're here, I know you're safe…" I watch his lips move before leaning in and kissing him. We're cautious at first and once again I'm hyperaware of his every movement - his hand on my backside, his growing erection, even my own dampness.

"Ugh, we're horny teenagers…" I mumble. He pulls away and laughs, brushing hair from my face.

"I'm sorry… It's just, I've wanted you for so long," he admits, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, "You're in my bed in your underwear, it's kind of like a switch…"

I can't believe what I'm about to say, but it comes out anyway. "I'm not ready for that…" He nods in understanding. "But, there are other things… things that I'm willing to try until we're ready," I hesitate a little before resting my hand on his erection, my cheeks instantly burning as he stifles a moan. It twitches in my hand expectantly.

"I'm sorry… this is kind of uncharted territory for me…" I admit, kicking myself for letting those words escape.

"Here…" he croons, taking his hand from my backside and pulling himself from his boxers, wrapping my hand around his girth. “Like this…” He moves my hand from base to tip slowly before trusting me to do it on my own. I reach the tip, feeling his precum leak out. He stifles a moan, knowing we have to be quiet.

"It's like being sixteen all over again…" he whispers, kissing me lightly as I continue working him. “Being quiet to not let our parents hear," he kisses me again, moaning in my mouth. "That feels amazing…"

My wrist is getting sore, so I know I can't continue much longer. "Sit up," I tell him quietly, unsure of what I'm about to do. He obeys my command, leaning his back against the headboard as I move down between his legs, enjoying his gasp as I take his length in my mouth. I pull off and flick the tip with my tongue, eliciting a moan before descending on him again, bobbing my head and trailing my tongue against the length of his shaft.

"K-Katniss!" he gasps, bunching the sheets in his hands. He puts a hand on my shoulder but it's too late. I feel his seed spill in my mouth, salty and hot. I pull off and swallow as he bursts out laughing.

"What?" I'm blushing fiercely, wiping my mouth clean.

"Your face… I'm sorry, I tried to stop you," he says, embarrassed. I straddle him, letting the desire I've felt for him since my teen years take over.

"Don't worry about it… You don't taste half bad." I kiss his forehead, smiling. "We're crossing so many lines…"

"Yup, now let's cross another," he says, his thumbs hooking into the elastic strap of my sports bra, pulling it over my head. I cross my arms over my small chest, keeping it from his view. "Don't you fucking dare," he snaps, "Don't you dare hide yourself from me." I look up at him through my eyelashes as he pins my arms to my side, drinking in my bruised body. I'm toned and have a boyish figure, though my small breasts are eclipsed by his hands.

He lights my body on fire with his hungry gaze and warm hands while massaging my chest. "Turn around and sit between my legs," he whispers in my ear. I move slowly, trying not to agitate my ribs or stitches before resting against his nude form. His hands travel from my breasts to my now moist boy shorts. They're tender, but knowing as he traces my dampness. My whimpers are becoming too loud, so he covers my mouth with his hand, cooing in my ear while sneaking his hand in my underwear.

I wince as his finger enters me, pressing my back into his chest while his palm stifles my moans. "When we're in the States, I'm going to make you scream…" he promises, while his damp fingers find my clit, rubbing in small, fast circles until I'm thrashing against him. The fire is released to every inch of my body, my orgasm like a brush fire, coming on quick and unfortunately going just as soon as it came.

He holds me while my breathing and heart rate slow. "Wow…" he whispers, finally removing his hand from my mouth.

"Yeah…" Never in my dreams did I imagine I'd be in bed with a naked Peeta, the taste of his seed fresh on my tongue and his hand slick with my arousal.

No nightmares come as we sleep in a tangle of limbs and sweat, our faces inches from each other's.

Featherlight kisses rouse me from sleep. They're over every inch of my face, tickling me and tempting me to open my eyes and meet Peeta's curious sea blue eyes. "Time to get up," he spanks me lightly, "We have to leave in an hour."

I pout and he pulls me close. "I like waking up next to you… especially when you're not throwing yourself to the floor in a panic." I roll my eyes, pulling on my bra and a pair of sweat shorts from my bag, his eyes burning into my back. Suddenly I'm conscious of every scar, every freckle, every imperfection on my body.

I pull on a t-shirt. "I'm… umm… shower…" I stutter, grabbing my heavy bag full of clothes and toiletries.

"It's right there," he says, pointing to a door I thought was the closet. When I open the door, I find it's a tiny personal bathroom.

* * *

"Heaviest bag first, please," the woman asks as I sling my clothes bag onto the scale. "Do you have any firearms in your possession?"

I nod and hand her my permits, pointing down at my three gun cases and Peeta's two. She waves someone over and begins speaking in German.

"You please, come this way," the man says. I take my bags and cases and follow him. This is why we had to get to the airport five hours before our flight…

The man has me open my sniper rifle first, "American cannot take this into country."

"I'm not a private citizen, here," I say, handing him my military ID, passport, and point at my permit. "We're with the United States Marine Corps." He looks confused before Peeta speaks up, his German confident as he hopefully tells the man why I have a weapon on me that's very illegal if I were a private citizen.

"Ah yes, you are… long range shooter?" he asks.

"Sniper, yes…" I kick at the ground a little.

"For trial, before you go back?" I nod slowly as he prints out a tag. "Make sure they are all unloaded and locked," he tells me after the half hour examination of my three weapons and the nearly half hour of Peeta's.

"You have a safe trip," he tells us. We watch as our bags are taken into the back where our weapons will surely be manhandled again.  We head to the security checkpoint, surprisingly making it through with little to no hassle.

"Did you call home?" Peeta asks, his arm lazily thrown around my shoulders.

"I… Shit…" I pull my cell phone out of my backpack and turn it on for the first time since leaving for Iraq. One of my mother's stipulations about my deployment was that I get an international chip put in my phone, just in case.

"It's like…" he looks at the clock, "Three there…"

I wave him off, dialing Mom’s number. "She's a nurse and has been on night shift for the last few months…" It rings twice before she picks up, "Hello? Katniss? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Mom, it's me." I twist my braid around my finger. "Listen, I'm coming home," I start.

"Wait, what? Are you okay?"

"Yeah… you know that Marine who’s going on trial next week?"

"Yes…" she pauses. I know she’s curious, but I also know there’s not a lot of time.

"He was one of mine. I'm coming back with someone else from our division for the trial before I go back to Baghdad." I run my hands through my hair, messing up my braid. Even as I say the words, they don't seem real.

"Katniss… the missing Marine….was that you?" she asks.

"Yeah… I… Listen, I'll tell you all about it when I get back to the States," I promise.  We managed to kill three hours in the airport already and our plane will be boarding soon.

"When will you be home?"

"Today, wait, maybe tomorrow? I'm not sure. We have thirteen or more hours on a plane, then we're driving from Philly to DC. I have to come straight there since I can't really walk around in public in my BDU's…" I explain.

"Kat, I have to go. Call me when you get into town. I love you," she says, which causes me to pause. My mother and I _never_ say 'I love you'.

"I… love you, too, Mom. See you soon…" I reply and hang up.

"That seemed oddly formal," Peeta remarks and hands me my backpack, which I sling over my shoulder.  He wraps his arm around my waist as we hand our boarding passes to the woman at the desk and board the plane.

"My mom and I aren't close…" I tell him after the plane to Munich takes off. "After my Dad went missing and was killed, she shut off. I haven't trusted her since…"

He just nods. "I'm not particularly close to my Mom, either.  Things really got worse when I told her I was enlisting," he shrugs. "My old man's proud of me, though, and that's enough…"

We land in Munich before I can blink. We have to rush to our next flight, the plane taking us from Munich to Philadelphia, which I plan on sleeping through. Peeta and I stand in line to board, getting strange looks from our fellow passengers. We must be a sight - me with my stitches; Peeta, the stereotypical image of Marine, tall and muscular with buzzed hair.

I idly read my plane ticket, which states _First Class_  at the top. "Holy shit," I mumble, pointing it out to Peeta.

"Paylor did say that us going to the States was by Presidential order…" he shrugs as I pop a Vicodin to help me sleep. The intoxicating pill takes effect shortly after takeoff, and I fall asleep with my head resting on his shoulder.

Yet another sleep with no nightmares.

When I rouse later, Peeta is sound asleep, his head on mine. When I sit up, he groans but doesn't wake.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" the flight attendant asks. "Drinks are complimentary." I know better than to drink with the Vicodin still in my system.

"Just some water, please, thanks." She nods and I shiver, checking my watch. It’s still on Iraqi time, eight hours ahead of DC. The woman returns a moment later, handing me a bottle. "How long until we land?" I ask.

"Just under an hour, we should see land soon," she confirms. I nod, realizing I've managed to sleep away a thirteen hour flight.  If only I could have done that when leaving for Iraq, rather than pacing and vomiting three or four times.

I pull Peeta's bag from between his feet and dig through the pockets. Before takeoff, he reminded me that there was a travel toothpaste in his case and that my toothbrush was in my carry-on. He knew if I slept through the flight, I would want to clean myself up before landing.

That boy is psychic.

I wait for the bathroom to clear, bolting in before anyone else can even try. The plane lurches several times while I'm brushing my teeth, making me spatter blue foamy spit on the mirror and counter, which I spent the next five minutes cleaning up.

"I hate planes…" I sigh, splashing water on my sleepy face. I redo my braid, checking my reflection one more time, deeming myself presentable enough.

"Hey you…" Peeta yawns as I sit down. He pulls me in for a soft good morning kiss, much like the ones he showered me in before. "Mmmm, minty," he yawns again.

"We're landing soon. So if you want to freshen up, you should do it now." I kiss his nose before he groggily stumbles to the bathroom.

"Good morning, passengers," the flight attendant starts as land comes into view, "We are about to begin our final decent into Philadelphia. At this time, we ask that you put your seat backs and tray tables in their upright and locked position, as well as turn off all portable electronic devices. Flight attendants will be coming through one last time to pick up any trash," she pauses for a second just as Peeta returns to his seat, "And if you didn't notice before, we have two of our men and women in uniform on board today. We would like to extend a thank you to Sgt. Katniss Everdeen and Sgt. Peeta Mellark of the U.S. Marine Corps for their service to our country." We exchange looks; I had seen this done before when I was a child flying from Arlington, where my father was buried, to Philadelphia. The plane slowly erupts into thunderous applause.

I shrink into the seat as Peeta grips my hand. _I can't escape this tube fast enough…_

But instead, I stare at the Sports Complexes neatly packed together as we near Philadelphia. So many memories…

"Welcome to Philadelphia," I say to Peeta as we grab our bags and weapons and stand in line to go through Customs.

"Do you have anything to declare?" the woman asks, comparing my passport to my face and my Military ID. "Nope," I stretch a little, my entire body stiff from the flight. Our guns have already been inspected, though I had to explain yet again why I have a sniper rifle in my possession. The woman is just as easy to talk to as the gentleman in Germany.

"Thank you and God bless." she says, handing us our passports.

 _Sgt. Katniss M. Everdeen_ , I sign on the contract for our rental car. "Will you be returning it here or…"

"Erm…" To be honest, I haven't even thought about that part. "No, most likely Baltimore-Washington International," I say.  The lady snaps her gum, displeased by this.

"Just return it full of gas and in one piece. We don't usually rent to twenty-two year olds, but calls were made," she sighs, but I don't really care.  I just want to get out of the airport, see the sun, and hear the English speaking people, even with their Philadelphian attitude.

"I hate to emasculate you, Peeta, but I'll drive."

He just rolls his eyes in reply. "Good, I don't drive in Philly or near the beltway," he affirms, loading our bags into the car. When I get into the driver's seat, his hands are on my face immediately, pulling me into a deep kiss. "You're so sexy in your uniform…" he whispers, stroking my cheeks as I start the car.

"Good," I pull away and buckle myself in, "Then you'll never have to see me out of it again!" His jaw drops as I put the car in gear and navigate to I-95 by memory.

* * *

"When we come back to the States for real…we're going to a Phillies game," I insist, biting into my ketchup slathered cheesesteak. It tastes just as good as I remember. "They'll have the new park up and everything by then," I tell him with a mouthful of food.

"Such a lady," he scoffs, taking a napkin and pressing it to my face instead of putting it in my hand. "And sure, when we have time, I’d love to. We each still have about three years left on our contracts. I'm sure we can make it work so we both have a seventy-two at the same time," I nod and drain my soda. "Also, you cover every other thing you eat in hot sauce… why not a cheesesteak?" he asks.

I look at him, as if injured by his words. "Blasphemy!" I joke before taking the lid off my cup and pouring ice into my mouth. "I missed Coke so much," I say into the cup. Peeta just laughs at me, his warm, free laughter making the sunny day even brighter.

"So next stop… the hotel?" he asks, finishing his food.

I shake my head. "No, I have something else I need to do before we get to DC," I whisper, staring off at the Philly skyline. As my father's laughter echoes in my ears, I give him a weak smile.

* * *

"Arlington?" he asks as I purchase a bouquet of calla lilies.

I nod slowly, holding them close to my chest and handing him the keys. "Can you drive? It's just down the road. I can tell you where to go from there…" I ask quietly. He nods and gets in the driver's seat as I sniff at the white petals.

"Stop here," I tell him when we've reached the parking area. "I… you can stay here if you want…" I mumble, biting at my lip. I want him to come with me, I need him to, but my strange behavior in addition to visiting my father's grave might be a little much.

I jump out of the car, not waiting for his response, and look over the thin, white headstones as I walk. Each one has a cross or the branch of the military the person buried under it had served in. Finally, I see it.

_Lt. Abraham Everdeen_

_Persian Gulf War POW_

_March 21, 1959 – June 19, 1991_

I slowly trace my father’s birth date and death date with my fingers before digging the leaves out of the tube in the ground meant for flowers.

"I'm sorry, Dad…" I whisper, "I feel like we're leaving you behind again. It's destroying Mom, I know it…"

I place the lilies in the black tube before removing the left over leaves and grass trimmings from around the headstone. "Prim's trying to be strong. She's turning eighteen next summer," I tell his headstone, wiping tears from my face. I've grown aware of Peeta's presence, but try to ignore it as I keep talking.

"I'm sorry I can't trust Mom…" I sob, gripping my pants. I feel my stitches tug but I have to ignore it. "I want to, but what if she shuts off again? What if something happens to me? Prim's just a kid… just a kid…" I wrap my arms around my body as the memory of his funeral comes back to me.

_I’m ten years old, standing in the early summer rain as my father receives a twenty-one gun salute. My mother appears as blank as a statue, as Prim and I are left to wonder why they were putting our father in the ground…_

"Shhh…" Peeta coos, stroking my hair as I sob into his chest. "He's so proud of you," he promises, "I know it, any father would be." I nod without looking at him, my eyes fixed on my father's name. _Will I have a stone like this?_

I move forward and kiss his headstone. "I'll make you proud, Dad…" I whisper to him before leaving the cemetery without another word or a second glance, knowing it would bring me to tears again. After all, I was so close to ending up here just a few short days ago.

Suddenly, my phone begins ringing. It's my mother. "Hey…" I answer in a quiet voice.

"Are you in DC?" she asks, not bothering to say hello back.

"Yeah, we'll be there in about a half hour, traffic permitting…" I tell her flatly.

"Good. Prim is bouncing off the walls. She's even stepped on that damned cat twice."

"Good, maybe he'll be in hiding when we get there!" I smile a little, taking the keys from Peeta, not trusting him to find my apartment.

When I get off the phone, he kisses my cheek and gives me a smile. "You must think I'm a nut…" I say, wiping the tears from my eyes.

"Well, yeah, but for different reasons," he grins. "But I do think you're a loving daughter who was paying her respects to her father." I nod a little, kissing him lightly.

"I don't deserve you," I tell him quietly, "But I'm going to keep you."

* * *

Washington DC is in a constant state of traffic jam. Even though I live off the beaten path, it still takes about twenty minutes to get home through the stop and go traffic.

"Katniss!" I hear Prim shout as she bolts out the door. I wince as her body collides with mine, "You're here! You're really here!" Her bright blue eyes study my injuries.

"A little worse for wear, but yes, I'm here!" I smile, ruffling her loose blonde hair.

"This is…" I start, but she cuts me off.

"Peeta Mellark. I remember him," she says. Rather than ask, she pulls him in for a tight hug. I telepathically plead with her not to spill every detail of the crush I had on him when we were kids. I look up to see my mother in the doorway, drying her hands on a towel.

"Katniss…" she breathes, finally leaving the house and crossing the yard. "What happened to you?"

"A building fell on me," I confirm. Her jaw drops as her cold hands find my chin, examining my sutures and bruise. "I would have been a goner if this guy right here hadn't come to save my ass," I say, nudging Peeta.

"Language, Katniss," she scolds before looking at Peeta with tears in her eyes. "Thank you…" she tells him while pulling me into a hug.

Once inside, I bound up the stairs two at a time to my bedroom, which is all boxed up and ready for the move. Even though we have to hurry, I steal a moment to flop onto my bed while listening to the conversation downstairs.

"She doesn't go there with anyone…" I hear Mom say amidst the clanking in the kitchen, "Not even Gale." They must be talking about the cemetery visit. I try to ignore it as I shove clothes into my suitcase. I grab jeans, shorts, and a few dresses just in case, followed by a few pairs of sandals and heels.

I zip the case shut, praying I haven't forgotten anything or at least packed things that match…

"Mom, Prim, don't make him uncomfortable," I grunt as the suitcase thumps down the stairs. The three of them are sitting in our humble living room. Peeta admires my dark blue mortarboard from our high school graduation; the tassel with the gold 1999 next to it, as well as two pictures - one of me accepting my diploma, the next me standing as students entering the military are recognized.

"It was cloudy that day… but the second the principal said  _Katniss Marie Everdeen, United States Marine Corps_ , the clouds broke. I knew it was her Dad," Mom says wistfully.

I roll my eyes. My mother loves this story. It was 'how she knew I'd be safe'.

"Mom, you're going to chase him off," I mutter, setting my bag by the door as she waves me off. On the mantle sits two frames, individual photos of my father and I both dressed in our formal blues. _Like father, like daughter…_

"Want anything to drink?" I ask Peeta while pulling a soda from the fridge.

"Nah, I'm good," he says. I empty the Coke, and feeling a little too comfortable in my home, I let out a loud belch.

"And that, Sergeant Mellark, is my daughter," my mother sighs.

"Katniss, can you at least _pretend_ to be a woman for five minutes?" Prim asks from the couch. I throw the dishtowel at her before walking over to Peeta and kissing him on the cheek.

"I wouldn't have you any other way," he says, kissing my forehead. Prim groans while I study my mother's shocked expression. I don't usually attach myself to guys, yet here is one in our living room, holding me.

"This is a nice surprise…" my mother says, hugging him. "You take care of her, okay? Don't let her do something stupid."

"I promise," he tells her. He can't keep it, but it's enough for her.

"Good luck with the move,” I say as we grab my things and head outside. “We're free for the next few days. I'll call you, we'll get together for dinner or something." Mom and Prim nod back as we get in the car.

"Where are we staying?" I ask, pulling the GPS from the dashboard to put in the address.

"The Saint Regis?" He shows me the paper and looks confused by my slack jaw.

"That's not possible…” he balks. “That's like… A really nice hotel, like  _really_  nice…"

Sure enough, he's right. "Uh yes, we have the Presidential Suite prepared for the both of you," the desk clerk says upon our arrival. _What the actual fuck?_

As we enter the room, I notice a single white rose and a note on the dresser. Peeta grabs the handwritten card and begins reading, "For everything you've done for me in the past and for what you're doing for our country now. Snow." He looks back at me, his eyebrows raised.  "Personal friend? The President?"

I flop down on the bed. It's a plush, massive king that I could get lost in. "I was part of his personal security detail before Iraq, remember?" I kick off my boots and stare at the crystal chandelier. There's a formal sitting area in the front of the suite with a kitchenette and a dining area. The suite also has two other bedrooms we won't use, along with a bathroom containing a tub big enough for a whole platoon.

"Nice…" I close my eyes, still able to hear the bustle of the streets below us.

"So did I pass?" he asks, flopping down next to me. I crack a curious eye open in response. "Your mom didn't seem to hate me," he observes.

"Are you kidding? Her spinster daughter brought a handsome man home. She loves you!" I sit up, deciding to unpack. I grab my dress blues first, which I'll need to iron.

The sight of me pulling out a dress grabs Peeta’s attention. "I didn't know you could wear skirts," he teases, taking the low cut, silky crimson number from me and measuring it up against himself.

"I can be coerced into wearing them occasionally," I say, tossing it on the hanger and putting it away.

"I'd like to  _coerce_  you out of it," he mumbles. I blush and continue working, hoping he can't see me squirm.

"Do you want to go to a bar?" I ask, stripping from my camo pants and donning a tight black skirt. "I know a good one like two blocks from here with really good music. Not the thumping city crap, but jazz."

"Good, here I was thinking you were some city girl now," he jokes, tossing his shirt at me.

"I'll always be a mountain girl," I wink, turning my back to him as I pull my sports bra over my head. I choose a baggy white halter top that exposes most of my back, including my "One Shot, One Kill" tattoo. Once dressed, I let my hair out of its usual braid, running my fingers through the waves.

"You're gorgeous," Peeta tells me, buttoning up a dark red shirt.

"You're not half bad yourself," I smirk, slipping on a low pair of heels and actually applying make-up.

"Damn…" I hand him my ID, money and cell phone since I have no pockets. "Come on, I could use a drink."

He backs me up to the vanity until I find myself sitting on the cold marble, my back up against the mirror. His lips barely brush mine before he pulls himself back, studying my half closed eyes, parted lips and spread legs.

"You're evil…" I whisper.


	11. A Soft Civilian or a Loyal Warrior?

"Are you sure you should be drinking?" Peeta asks.  I don't look at him as my third Red-Headed Slut slides down my throat. Sweet, delicious Jager and grenadine paired perfectly together to taste like cough syrup. I set the glass down and smile as he polishes off his second beer.

"Don't baby me, I outrank you." I take his hands and spin around so my back is to his chest, his arms crossed over mine.

"We're not in uniform, and I'm bigger than you," he teases. I laugh as he bends back, picking me off the ground. I feel the strange looks cast in my direction from other patrons, understandable considering I'm covered in bruises and stitches. But who cares?

He sets me down and we sway to the music, beautiful soulful jazz, as the sweet alcohol takes effect. I lean forward and sip at some water that Peeta ordered for us. I feel his fingers on my back, tracing my tattoo. "That tickles," I squirm under his touch, my backside accidentally grinding up against him.

"And  _that_  was mean," he says, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me towards him.

"You started it…" A familiar song starts playing, a cover of  _Moondance_  by Van Morrison. "Come on," I say, taking him by the hand and leading him away from the bar area and onto the dance floor.

"What are you doing?"

"At Prom, you asked me for a second dance, but I was too scared. So I ran back to Madge and her friends," I start, positioning his hand on my hip as I lace my fingers with his, my other arm on his back. "I'm giving you that second dance." We start slow, swaying to the music until he spins me, pulling me back into his chest with a soft  _oof_. The song comes to an end with me dipped down, his face inches from mine.

"We are breaking so many rules…" he whispers as I feel a bead of sweat drip from my neck down through my breasts.

"Shut up and kiss me," I purr. He listens, the taste of beer thick on his lips. I'm sure I taste like cough syrup.

I excuse myself to the bathroom, catching my breath. As I blot the sweat from my neck, I look in the mirror and cringe at my face. The stitches in my lip are making me pout more than usual. The ones above my eyebrow resemble a thinned caterpillar that refuses to move. I try to position my bangs so no one would have to see them, but nothing will cover that many stitches. I sigh and wash my hands, heading back to Peeta so he doesn’t think I’ve fainted in here.

There are three women sitting next to him when I return. I see one place her hand on his thigh, which he brushes off. "Ah, and this is Katniss, my girlfriend," he announces. They look disappointed as he kisses me on the lips with a ferocity that lets me know he's ready to move on.

"I'll settle our tab," he says, kissing my nose.

"I'm going to go wait outside. It's hot in here," I fan myself some more for dramatic effect as I leave the club.

Walking outside, the hot June air coats me with sweat. It’s humid here, though nothing like the dry, sandy Fallujah heat I'll never admit to missing. I feel a hand touch my shoulder. "Peeta…" I breathe, but instead I’m greeted by the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol. Without warning, I'm being pushed into the dark alley next to the bar.

"Hey!" I shout, but the stranger’s hand covers my mouth.

"You're a pretty little thing, ain'tcha?" he growls, pushing me against the wall. Unbeknownst to him, he’s giving me the advantage in this fight. I put my foot against the wall and push off without warning; he doesn't know how strong my legs are. He’s also unaware that I know eight different ways to either end his life or cripple him horribly. Just because I'm smaller doesn’t make me any less deadly. I take two fistsful of his shirt, bending him over before bringing my knee up into his chest enough times until I feel him stumble. I might have hit him in the nose a few times as well…

"Never engage an enemy without a full recon," I scold, walking out of the alley just as Peeta leaves the club.

"Katniss! There's blood on your shirt. Are you hurt? Did-" he questions. The drunken man who attacked me stumbles out of the dark alley, blood pouring from his nose.

"I-" Before I can get a word out, Peeta's 'protective' mode switches on but I grab his wrist, "Peeta, no. Don't undermine the ass kicking I just gave him. He didn't do anything, just pulled me into the alley,” I explain. “Come on, let's go back to the hotel, I need a shower." I give him a small smile and he's a goner, putty in my hands.

"Sorry, I'm not used to women who don't need defending," he apologizes, taking my hand in his and kissing my cheek.

"Oh, someday I'll need defending… you'll know that day when it comes," I promise. He kisses me on the cheek again. His arm is wrapped around me, hand resting just above my hip. I bring my opposite hand up and lace my fingers with his.

The doorman looks at the blood droplets on my shirt, seeming appalled, but says nothing. After all, I'm covered in stitches, so maybe I just busted a few?

I let the water from the shower beat down on my body, cooling off my hot sweaty skin before slathering my leg, face and arm in first aid cream, covering the stitches on my arm and leg with white gauze and tape. I don't bother drying my hair and pull on a t-shirt before leaving the bathroom, tugging it down seeing as it's the only garment I brought in with me.

Lying alone in the king sized bed feels like swimming in the ocean. As I wait for Peeta to get out of the shower, I turn on the news to distract myself.

"And the war in Iraq claims two more lives today. Corporals Lance Davis and Michael Anderson died when an IED blew up their convoy," I exhale in relief, since it's no one I know. They're from the Army, so there's even less of a chance we would ever cross paths. Just two more flag covered coffins on their way home…

I hear the bathroom door creak open and hastily change the channel to some CSI show, nothing about soldiers dying. "Hey you," Peeta yawns into the back of my neck as his arms encircle me, "With this big bed, I don't have to worry about you hitting me while we're trying to sleep."

"Shuddup," I yawn, cuddling deeper into his chest, throwing my injured leg over his body just to get closer and fall asleep.

* * *

I yawn and roll over to check the time, 1100. If we have any intention of getting on a somewhat normal schedule, we have to get up around now. "Peeta…" I say, he just grunts.

I shift myself so I’m straddling him, "Peeta…" I coo, running my fingers along his bare chest, enjoying the feel of his blonde chest hair under my fingers. He cracks an eye open and looks down his chest, where my bottomless groin straddles his.

"I could wake up like this more often…" he yawns, looking disappointed as I get off him and head to the bathroom, trying to hide my blush.

"Just wait until we get to Baghdad," I tease, closing the door behind me and pressing my back against it. What's going to happen in Baghdad? I have a feeling that the second we land, I'll be in a hole for days at a time. _Could I do that to him?_

I push off the door and stare at my reflection. My bruises are fading and blending with my skin, and my stitches are good to come out, at least in my face. My arm and leg will remain stitched for at least another week or so.

I brush my teeth and gingerly wash my face before pulling out tweezers and nail clippers, feeling gently at my forehead and wincing a little.

"I'll leave you there until tomorrow…" I sigh before snipping off the knot at my lip and slowly pulling away the black thread, cleaning the site with water and rubbing in Neosporin. I still look like a train wreck; hell, I AM a train wreck!

"What are you doing?" I whisper to myself. "There's a guy out there who genuinely likes you and you're trying to find every flaw to turn him away." I close the lid on the toilet and sit down, pulling my leg up and resting my head on my knee.

I sigh, "Why he's not going after some soft civilian is beyond me…"

"You didn't really just ask that… did you?" I jump at his voice.

"H-how long have you been here?"

Peeta smiles sheepishly as I grow hot with embarrassment. "Long enough," he says, sitting on the edge of the tub, taking my hand. "Katniss… look at me."

I turn away, tears coming to my eyes. _Why… God damnit, why!_

He's not smiling - I don't need to look at him to feel his frown. "Sergeant Everdeen, look at me, that's an order," he repeats in a stern voice. It brings a smile to my face, and eventually his frown softens into a half smile.

"There we go…" He squeezes my hand while I turn to face him, "Katniss, if I  _wanted_  to be miserable, I would be with some soft civilian. If I  _wanted_  to spend my life with someone I couldn't relate to, or who would press me for info on what I've seen like my family does instead of understanding that you need to just let some things be… I would give my heart to some squishy soft civilian who can't disassemble and reassemble a sniper rifle blindfolded, who won't run herself half to death just to prove to a few idiots that she isn't a pushover. Someone who won't lay her life down for her little sister without question…"

I bite my lip, nodding, taking his words in. He doesn't see me as many of our counterparts do, an emotional liability that shouldn't be handed a gun. In his eyes, I'm a fearless warrior, lethal only to those who would do innocents harm.

"Semper Fidelis…" I mumble, and he just nods.

"Always loyal," he whispers, kissing my cheek.  I feel it, a fire deep within my core, burning for him. "Now… stop hogging the bathroom," he chides, picking me up and setting me just outside the bathroom. "Women…" I roll my eyes as he closes the door.

I sit on the edge of the bed, unable to abate the fire in my heart and in my soul, which only seems to grow stronger each second the door to the bathroom remains closed. In Germany, I told Peeta I wasn't ready to fully be intimate with him, though he confessed he was, and had been for a while. Truthfully, the only reason I felt that way was because I feared I was the wrong choice for him, that a civilian's lips and arms would be a much better alternative.

But that isn't the truth at all. Much like myself, Peeta needs someone strong who can take care of herself.

He needs me.

I stand up as the door opens, as if on auto-pilot, crossing the short distance on poised hunter's feet. I catch him off guard, my hands on his bare chest, pushing him into the wall.

Peeta’s shocked eyes study me as I get up on my toes, my lips meeting his hungrily as my fingers run through his barely regulation length blonde hair. "You need another haircut, soldier," I mumble against his lips before he lifts my leg up to his hip, pulling my body even tighter against his.

"Don't insult me," he says and I grin against his lips. Most Marines would cringe when being called soldier, as those in the Army were soldiers. We are  _technically_  part of the Navy. Our lips tangle, wrestling together as our lustful hands explore each and every part of our bodies; his hands, large and strong, rest on my backside as we pull apart, "What's this about?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"I want you…" I breathe, pressing my lips to his once more, but his are unresponsive. "What?" I ask, studying his face now littered with concern.

"What if we make a mistake and you end up pregnant? They'll kick you out so fast, tear up your contract…"

He's right; the Marine Corps is my life, but I smile, "Please, like I'm not on the pill." I roll my eyes and this time his lips come to mine. His fingers tangle in my knotted hair as he slowly directs me back to the bed, stopping only when the back of my legs meet the soft sheets. Our lips only break when he lifts my shirt over my head. I feel his eyes on me and go to cover myself shyly, but I ball up and release my hands. Rather than hiding, I go on the offensive by tugging at the elastic band of his flannel pants. They slip off without effort, and there we stand, naked as the day we were born, for the first time in the early afternoon sunlight.

We size each other up for a split second before our adventurous lips and hands go at it again. Slowly, he lowers me onto the bed but remains standing. I know what he wants. I may be inexperienced, but I can read him. I shift so I’m lying on my stomach, his arousal waiting for my touch, for my lips to be around it. I knew it was going to hurt when we finally got to that moment, but I was okay with it. After all, nothing worth having comes without a little pain.

Our eyes meet before I flick his tip with my tongue. He groans loudly, his hand back in my hair as I kiss it, then slowly but surely take him into my mouth, little by little. His eyes are so dark, so loving as he moans my name, which sends chills over my skin. I shift slightly, feeling the moisture grow between my legs. He doesn't let me continue for very long before pushing me off and directing me so I’m lying down, my head resting against the pillow.

I focus on his eyes, those beautiful eyes catching me off guard that I don’t notice his fingers slipping inside me. "Shhhh…" he coos, smoothing down my hair as he pulls them out, only to push in again. "You're so tight… I'm afraid I'll hurt you," he admits, kissing me lightly.

"Nothing worth having comes without a little pain," I whisper against his lips, gasping when he thrusts his fingers into me with more force. His lips leave mine, trailing down my chin, my neck, my chest, until finally he reaches my abdomen. I squirm, realizing his intentions.

"Please?" he asks as I squirm some more, realizing it's been a good week since I bothered shaving down there. He must read my mind because he sighs, his chin resting on my abdomen. "Katniss, you're a twenty-two year old woman, you should have hair down here." He thrusts his fingers in again, though I have his hand pinned between my thighs. He could have easily pried them open, but waited for me to part my legs. Without hesitation, his tender lips trail down my toned abdomen. I squirm a little more but keep my legs parted when his lips reach the patch of dark hair I was so worried about. He doesn't hesitate, not even seeming to mind it before he gently bites on my inner lips. His fingers halt inside me for a moment, but as his tongue finds my awaiting clitoris, they slowly begin moving in and out.

I'm blinded, partly by the rays of sun coming through the open window, but mostly from the fact that as his tongue slides over me, I see white. All my brain can focus on is the wave of pleasure crashing over me, forgetting to hear, to see, to smell, to taste, only to feel.

I moan and writhe as I feel my insides tighten like a hot coil, winding tighter and tighter, awaiting release. It comes without warning, like a shock through my core. From my scalp all the way down my to my toes, every nerve ending fires as I’m vaguely aware of my screaming Peeta's name.

As I come down from my orgasm, I see Peeta on his knees between my legs. He takes my hand in his, kissing each fingertip as I whisper an almost pathetic  _'please'_.  He doesn't need to be told twice…

I hear myself cry as I feel my insides stretching, which causes him to freeze… he was afraid of hurting me… but everything down there is so sensitive post orgasm.

He supports his weight with one arm, his other hand still clutching mine. I take his hand and kiss his fingers, tasting myself on them. I place his index finger in my mouth as the rest of his hand cups my jaw. We’re frozen for barely a minute as I clean my arousal from his fingers and he waits for my body to adjust. Once the pain washes away, he begins to slowly thrust in and out.

"So… tight…" he grunts. I've since released his hand from my grasp, resting it at my side, his fingers bunching the sheets underneath us. His movements become more daring, pulling out almost all the way only to crash into me with enough force that our skin slaps together and I slide further up the bed.

"You're…" Another thrust and my head meets the pillow, which presses against the mahogany headboard.  "…evil," I moan as he continues for only two more thrusts before pulling me up so I'm clutched against his chest. I wrap my legs around him as moves forward, pressing my back against the tall headboard. One hand supports me, the other reaches for the top of the headboard for leverage as he begins thrusting again, our lips sloppily brushing against each other’s, while our moans and pants of each other's names mix with the sound of the headboard hitting the wall.

I feel so full, so perfect, so beautiful.

Peeta's eyes are hungry on me, his firm hand keeping me from sliding down, as if his thrusts wouldn't do just that.

Without warning, the phone begins ringing. "Just ignore it…" I pant, but Peeta has other ideas. He leans over and picks up the receiver, placing it in my hand after answering. "H-hello?" I ask, my voice hoarse from the moaning.

"Miss Everdeen… Oh wait, sorry,  _Sergeant_  Everdeen?" the voice asks. Peeta picks this exact moment to push me forward only slightly so I grind into him, letting a soft moan escape. "Oh forgive me!" I hear, my eyes widening… _Whoever this is knows what we were doing…_ Fear grips me as I’m made more and more aware that he is still inside me. "You must still be on Iraqi time, just waking up!" It's late evening in Fallujah, but whatever.

I sigh in relief, "Don't worry about it." He does it again, but I stifle a moan, giving him a death glare.

"Is your companion there? The… erm…" I hear papers rustle as the surely flighty woman on the other end of the phone tries to figure out Peeta's name and rank, "Sergeant Mellark?"

"He's…" I look him over, "…occupied… Who is this?"

"Oh, sorry, I'm Effie Trinket, secretary to President Coriolanus Snow. He asks if the suite is to your liking?"

Growing bored, Peeta thrusts into me again, "It's… too much," I mumble.  He takes this as a sign to continue the slow grinding from earlier.

"Stretching?" she asks as I feel the blush come to my cheeks. "Guess you have to stay fit. The President would be honored if you and Sergeant Mellark would join him this afternoon at three," I can't even think, Peeta's grinding becoming too much for me. If I don't get off this phone soon, I won't be able to stop the moans. He leans forward, kissing my neck as if to make me hang up.

"Yeah, yeah, sure… we'll be there…"

"Oh good, he has requested you in your…" more rustling, "Evening blues? Does that make sense to you?"

"Y… yes…" I moan as Peeta continues kissing at my neck.

"Good, I'll be at your suite at 2:15 to pick you up. See you then!" she chirps as the line goes dead. I hang up the phone and toss it to the floor. We don't last much longer after that, not bothering to switch positions. He thrusts deeply into me, biting and sucking on my neck, which will surely leave marks. His body quivers as his seed spills deep within me, his lips once again on mine, our tongues exploring each other's mouths, tracing the fronts of the other's teeth. Finally I pull off of him, lying down as our chests heave with labored breaths, both of our bodies covered in sweat.

"So who…" he kisses from my hand up my arm, "Was on the phone?"

"No one special… Oh, we're meeting President Snow today at three."

He sits up, all post-coital bliss washing away with a wave of confusion.

I sit up on my elbows, "Well… they want us in our Sunday best… so I'm assuming it's to show the President's support for his brave men and women fighting for what's right, especially since he’s up for re-election next year," I blow a raspberry, "So  _you_  have a lot of ironing to do," I order. Instead, he pulls me to him, cradling me in his lap.

"That was amazing…" he sighs into my hair, "Your moans… how my name sounds when you come, how you taste…"

"Taste?" I look up at him but he only licks his lips, "Perv…" I push his head away and check the clock, almost 1300. Miss Trinket will be coming to pick us up at 2:15. "Come on, I saw how wrinkled your blues are," I slip from his grasp and run to the bathroom, "And if you don't get up, I'll have to shower alone…"

He doesn't need to be told twice.


	12. The Oath

"I look like a waitress…" I say, sighing.

"Yeah… You really do, either that or a school teacher," Peeta agrees, lifting up my skirt. "One that does not wear underwear." I push the last bobby pin in my bun as he smooths out my skirt.

"No underwear lines," I smirk. "And  _no,_ not all female marines go… Commando…" I rub foundation into my face, making sure to avoid my stitches. "Do you want some?" I ask, noticing his stare.

"You seem oddly calm for someone the President requested an audience with," he admits. I lean into the mirror and put on just enough eyeliner to give my eyes some definition.

"I've pointed a gun in the direction of President Coriolanus Snow more times than I can count," I remind him, walking out to the bedroom, my heels making a soft click the whole way. "I've also watched the man's beard grow through my scope." I smile, watching him finally iron his pants, "There is nothing about President Snow that worries me." I take a cloth and begin polishing my buttons, along with the few medals I've been awarded. One for marksmanship, one for my defense of the President, and one, though I’m pretty sure is just for show, in defense of the country. I guess sitting up in rafters and catwalks counts as national defense.

It’s 1410, meaning Miss Trinket will be here in five minutes. I shrug on my jacket, fasten it and straighten out my buttons, medals and bars. "How do I look?" Peeta asks, fastening his belt around the waist of his coat, straightening it out perfectly.

There’s something about a man in blues… especially my man.

I walk over to him, straightening out his medal for his service in Afghanistan. "Perfect, except no saber," I pout. He leans in and kisses me lightly, just as someone knocks on the door.

"Sabers are only for special occasions," he points out. I roll my eyes, walking across the sitting area to open the door.

"Miss Trinket?" The woman on the other side has a head full of tight blonde curls that make her hair big, like really big. She wears a pale pink suit with white trim and white open toe heels, extremely high heels.

"Sergeant Everdeen, it's a pleasure," she chirps, kissing both my cheeks as she barges into our hotel suite.

"I thought pink suits were a fashion faux pas…" She looks back at me, confused. "You know, after JFK? Jackie-O?"

"Ah… well, as it turns out, that only applies to convertibles in Dallas," she jokes, making herself comfortable on the couch, running her finger over the coffee table to check for dust.

Ugh, how do I address Peeta? Sergeant Mellark? Just Mellark? Peeta?

"Mellark! Hurry up, you're keeping the lady waiting," I bark. Soon after, I hear his footsteps coming from the master bedroom.

"Oh my…" Effie starts, "Yum…"

"Please, Miss Trinket, he's taken," I tell her without thinking. Peeta cocks an eyebrow as Effie goes over to him, straightening out his bars.

"Special lady back home, yes?"

"Well, she's from my hometown, but she lives here in DC," he confirms as she straightens the insignias on his collar.

"Oh wonderful, I'm sure she was the first to visit!" I roll my eyes and Peeta shoots me a pleading look.

"You actually just missed her, Miss…"

"Trinket, Effie Trinket." I'm not sure how Peeta hasn't thought to deck her yet, "And that is just dreadful. I would love to shake the hand of a woman willing to put her heart on the line," she gushes. I'm not sure what happened to Snow's old secretary, but this one knows exactly how to say the wrong thing. "Now, shall we get going? We have a big, big afternoon ahead of us!"

Miss Trinket sits in between Peeta and I in the back of a surely bulletproof Suburban, talking endlessly about how honored Snow is that we could make it. As if we’d ever deny an invite from the President.

We enter the White House and security is on us immediately. "Ma'am, spread your arms, legs shoulder width apart." They don't even ask to frisk me or if I want a female agent. Their hands quickly pat down my arms, torso, and legs, scrunching my skirt to feel whether or not I have anything strapped to me.

"They're good," the agent confirms and nods.

"Just formalities," Effie says, taking her clipboard. "Yes… yes… tell him we're here. Right this way, you two." She effortlessly leads us through the winding halls, chock-full of mirrors and pictures and secret alert buttons I only knew about because of my security clearance, and also because party guests tend to set off at least six per night. There are no personal pictures in this part of the White House; those are saved for upstairs, a place I have never seen. This half is regal and professional, everything the leader of the free world's home should look like. I can hear it from the hallway, the beautiful classical music that always streams from the old record player in Snow's office. Peeta seems to marvel at every individual accent of the house, whose floor plan I have almost memorized.

"Knock knock!" Effie slowly opens the door to the office.

"Yes… Well, they'll never be happy with anything I do or say, those are just the facts," Snow says, still on the phone. "Listen, come re-election, we'll see what  _big plans_  those windbags have in mind!" He hangs up without so much of a goodbye.

"Ah, wonderful!" he says, standing up. President Snow, a sixty three year old man with hair as white as his namesake, and a beard that made my sister laugh. "Sergeant Everdeen, Sergeant Mellark," he salutes us and we mirror his movements. A proper US Military salute, fingertips just barely off the edge of the eyebrow, close but not touching, "We are honored to have you back on American soil, safe and sound."

"It's an honor to be here," Peeta starts. "We were taken aback when Miss Trinket called inviting us here."

_Yeah, that's EXACTLY what we were feeling when you shoved the phone in my face mid-act._

He smiles at his secretary who is flipping through her clipboard, and that's when I see them. How could I miss them? Two men with cameras; pre-election publicity… clever man, he is.

Snow shakes both of our hands, kissing mine and holding Peeta's as he begins to speak, "When we heard two of our own were missing in such hostile territory,"  _Only hostile when one of my men kills a child…_  "The whole country seemed to hold its breath, waiting for news that the dust storm had cleared and you were safe. When we got word that you, Sergeant Mellark, ran back to find Sergeant Everdeen, we were at a loss for words," he smiles. "Especially after seeing what was left of the building that collapsed."

"I didn't know what I would find, but if there was a chance to save my-" Peeta hesitates for only a second, just fast enough to not blow our cover, "Sergeant, I knew I had to take it." Snow's other hand rises, pressing against the back of Peeta's, perfect time for a picture… or twelve.

"Such bravery… which is why, for your courage and sacrifice, I award you with this," he finally releases, reaching for a wooden box. When he opens it, there are two medals inside. The first is a Navy and Marine Corps Medal; an award for lifesaving, or an attempt at a lifesaving act where your own life is at risk. The second is a Purple Heart, most likely for me considering I was shot; not by the enemy, not on purpose, but it will make a good picture for a man who wants to be re-elected next year.

Snow pins the medal to Peeta's chest. "This young woman was sworn to protect me, even at the cost of her own life. You've never taken such an oath to Sergeant Everdeen, yet you were compelled to do so… Why?"

Well… shit.

"It's my duty, sir, to protect and serve. To leave no man or woman behind," Peeta confirms. Snow smiles in return, obviously pleased, giving the medal a pat and turning his attention to me.

"We never want one of our own to become the enemy. But on that fateful day in Fallujah when you took that bullet, it became an unfortunate reality." I don't get the fancy speech, just a thanks for my service and the purple medal attached to my uniform.

"Thank you, sir," I say. He backs up and salutes both of us yet again as we mirror his movements. _A perfect photo-op._

"No, thank you, both of you… I know you'll do your country proud on Monday when the trial starts." He takes my hand and pulls me close, patting my back as if hugging me, "There is to be no doubt that our involvement in the Middle East is absolutely necessary after the trial. Do you understand, Sergeant Everdeen?"

"Yes, Mister President, sir…" I say quietly, wondering how far he wants me to go. Does he want me to gush about how much we're helping over there - helping get civilians killed, people's children sent home in coffins?

His words hang with me for the rest of the day.

"Get me out of this thing," I huff as I kick my heels off my feet, pulling at my choking collar. The door hadn't even closed behind us when I hiked my skirt up and pulled off my panty-hose, throwing them on the couch where I hoped they would burn in hell. The next to go off is my jacket, laid out flat next to Peeta’s so it won't wrinkle.

"So… what to do tonight?" Peeta asks, scooping me up in his arms.

"Room service and HBO? Maybe go for a walk later? A drink or two?" I suggest and look at the clock. It's 1800, just barely dinner time. He sets me down in our room, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Why don't you help me out of this skirt?" I ask, making it look difficult to find the zipper.

"Why don't you wear the pants?" he asks, pulling the zipper down so I can step out of the black fabric.

I just shrug, "I could be persuaded to wear them." I pull the neck tab off and throw it over my shoulder, "Someday we'll get the real coats, with the real collars and belts." I go to unbutton the white shirt, but he's already on me, pulling the pins from my hair so it falls freely.

"Beautiful…" he whispers, just as I pop the last button.

"You're not too bad yourself…"

He strokes my cheek with his calloused thumb, taking in every inch of me in as I gingerly unfasten his buttons. I lean into his touch, so simple yet so powerful, "I want to make love to you…" he whispers, tucking my hair behind my ear, "From sunrise to sunset… then until the sun rises one more…" He pulls me to him. "Earlier… I should have shown more restraint, to make our first time together not just some… fuck." My heart sinks at his words. What we did earlier was beautiful, merging the lines that separated our bodies.

"Was… was that all earlier was to you?" I ask, "Just… just some fuck?" My eyes water, something so special to me, so simplified by him.

"No… no, Katniss, don't be sad. I mean that I should have taken the time to show you just how much I care about you, not just… well, slam you up against the headboard and nail you."

I roll my eyes, such a silly boy. "Peeta… everything earlier was perfect. It wasn't just 'some fuck' to me, it was being as close to you as humanly possible. Granted, you shoved a phone in my face and continued the act while I was on the phone…"

He grins, "I'm not sure what came over me." I unbutton his pants, letting them fall to the ground so we're both standing in only our white button-ups, though I have a bra on and he's in his boxers. "It  _was_  kind of kinky," I tease, putting my hand on his forehead and pushing his head back. I turn my back to him and shrug off the white shirt, throwing it at him as I run for the bed.

"Hey… no fair!" he shouts.

* * *

"So you're a  _real_  Marine," I hear. I take a swig of my Corona, keeping a watchful eye on the blonde next to my boyfriend, puffing her chest out to show off her artificial assets. She’s doing that thing where women flip their hair behind their shoulders.

"Well, yes, I-" Peeta starts, but she stops him. "My friend and I love a man in uniform… I'm Tiffany, by the way. My friend wants to know if you'd be interested in coming back to our table to tell us all your brave war stories," she purrs, her hand inching up his thigh. He goes to swat her hand away, but mine is just slightly faster.

"Wha… Hey!" she hisses as I squeeze.

"You should tell your friend that she needs to learn not to be pushy," I snap. She tries to pull away, but I hold tighter, "No respectable service man or woman would go around bragging about what they did or saw while in uniform. Now, why don't you do yourself a favor and take your bad dye job and those water balloons you call your breasts back to your friend and tell her not to send you to hit on a man for her!" I finally release my grip, "Especially someone else's man." My hand finds my beer again as she scurries off.

"I'm sorry that seemed a little... possessive,” I explain,  “But I hate when people think just because you have a uniform on means you have stories for everyone to hear…" I take another swig, feeling the liquid slide down my throat.

He puts his arm around me and pulls me close. "I should have told her right away, sorry…" he apologizes, kissing the top of my head.

I smirk, "Like she would have let you get a word in. Listen, hun, the only chance you would've had to get her to shut up was when your dick was in her mouth." Peeta chokes a little on his beer.

"I'd rather it be in yours with your beautiful grey eyes looking up at me," he murmurs. I blush and elbow him. "Plus did you see her teeth? They were big and fake…" He takes a swig of his own drink, "She should be worrying about blowing some greasy Senator…" he grumbles, but doesn’t continue. We won't discuss politics, not now and hopefully not ever.

I set my empty down. With a wave of my hand and a flick of the wrist but no more, a bartender comes by. "Two more," I order. She quickly flicks the cap off each of the bottles, inserts a lime in the top and hands them to us. "What do we drink to?" I ask, shoving my lime in the bottle after giving it a good squeeze.

"How about… to the people who are going to have to hear us tonight?"

We clink the necks of our bottles together as I chuckle, " _You_  only have one thing on your mind…"

"Yes, getting as much out of you as possible before we go back to Iraq and you're my superior once… Although…"

"Peeta?" I ask, holding my bottle in two hands, rubbing my thumb over the condensation, "Can we not talk about Baghdad while we're here? I know it's going to be difficult… to fulfill certain needs in our relationship, but…"

"Whoa… whoa whoa, Katniss, sex isn't a need in our relationship. It's an addition, albeit one I'll be sad to miss for a few months until our deployment ends…" I nod, "But you're more than some fuck, much more," he finishes. I lean in and kiss his lips; they're soft, loving… something I never imagined I'd feel. "Katniss?" he asks when our lips part.

"Mhm?"

"I know it's not official... but," he hesitates at my confused stare before I take his hand, offering a small reassuring smile. "I swear, as long as my heart still beats, I'll do everything in my power to make sure you come home alive. Even at the cost of my own life..."

My heart drops. Peeta Mellark, the boy who fed my family when my mother couldn't, the boy who I watched grow into a strong and powerful man from afar, the man who saved my life not even a week ago, is willing to give his life for me.

"Peeta..." I whisper, unable to argue. His lips are on mine again, sealing the deal.

Sergeant Mellark would die for me if the situation ever arises.


	13. What He Died For, What I Fight For

My cell phone wakes us up at eight in the morning. "Let it go to voicemail…" Peeta grumbles, pulling me close.

"I can't, it could be Prim," I mumble as his arms relax, he doesn't need to be told twice. The screen shows my mother's number. "Hello?" I answer, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"Good morning! I was wondering if you and Peeta wanted to come by for dinner tonight, say around five?" my mother asks.

"Yeah… yeah sure," I yawn, "Need us to bring anything?" I begin undoing my braid, fluffing my hair as Peeta's hand traces my spine through my USMC t-shirt, finally sneaking under the hem to snap my bra loudly. "Ouch…" I exclaim, looking down at him. His eyes are still closed but he's grinning like a fiend.

"Oh no, see you tonight!"

"See ya," I tell her and hang up, tossing my phone onto the chair near the bed before pushing Peeta onto his back and straddling him. "So, are we going back to bed or getting up now?"

He yawns like a lion and pulls me to him. "Neither…" he yawns again, rolling me over to spoon me properly. One of his hands reaches under my shirt to unfasten my bra, which I take as a silent command to slip out of the only two other pieces of clothing I'm wearing. I push them to the side of the bed before pressing my back into his bare chest. I whimper as he lazily pinches my nipple.

"I could wake up like this more often…" I yawn, "I mean, with your hands on me, not the call from my mother…"

He moves my hair and begins kissing the back of my neck, "But our days are numbered. Well, at least until our deployment is over… then I'm off to my folks' until I go down to Lejeune for the rest of my contract," I shiver after he says this, the tip of his tongue only barely tickling the back of my neck. "Even then, I'll probably have to live on the base. Not sure I want to tie myself to North Carolina just yet…"

I roll over, unsure of whether I'm actually about to say the words in my head. His eyes are open now, staring at me curiously though never leaving mine, even without the shirt. "I'll be stationed down there as well. You could…” I pause, “Live with me if you want. My mom and sister already have a house down there… they're moving in a week or so."

"You're asking me to live with you?" he asks incredulously, twisting some of my hair around his finger as I bite my lip.

"If you don't want to, I understand…"

He kisses my nose. "If you don't hate me by the time our deployment ends, Katniss, I'd be honored," he says, reaching an arm over and spanking me. It makes me jump, and I laugh. "Now, come on, let's go for a run."

I gather my hair into a braid, standing in our room in only my sports bra and shorts, a very loose and old USMC t-shirt waiting to go on over my clothes. The sleeves had holes in the hem so I took them off, cutting it down so it's basically only a cover for my modesty.

"Here, take my foot," I say. Peeta looks at me, confused, as I lift my leg in front of me. "Now lift my leg up so it's almost over your shoulder."

I smirk as he swallows, doing as I ask until my foot rests just under his shoulder. "Okay, now the other… Does this make you feel awkward?" I ask as he helps me stretch.

"No, not at all; no guy in the world is turned on by a flexible girl," he says sarcastically. I drop my foot to the ground, rolling my eyes.

"I'm in such better shape than you," he taunts as we round the corner onto Pennsylvania Avenue.

"Maybe, but I could probably shoot an apple off your head from over a mile away," I remind him.

"Let's never test that, please," he insists. I just shrug, keeping pace with Peeta, though I have to take about one and a half strides for his one. It’s not until we get closer to the fence surrounding the White House when we see them. Two men in camouflage with bags over their heads, a cardboard box with a flag wrapped around it, and a good ten or so more protestors holding various signs. "Great…" he mumbles as we near the crowd, both of us wearing USMC shirts, seeing as they're basically all we own.

"Don't let the government fool you," one of the bagged people starts in, "There are no WMD's!"

I roll my eyes. Maybe he's right, but it's not my job, nor is it Peeta's, to question orders. The 'coffin' is moved to block our path, forcing us to stop. I look at the flag, the flag I fight for basically being thrown around like a snot rag.

"Peeta, help me with this," I ask quietly, going to pull the flag off the box.

"You can't touch that!" a woman hisses at me, grabbing at my hand. I don't react other than to pull the fabric off the box. It's about my full wingspan but we fold it in half, then in half again. Flag folding is a grim duty of servicemen, only done at funerals. It usually takes a few people to get it perfect, but soon enough we have the stars out, stripes tucked in a perfect triangle, only seeing blue and white.

I hand the woman the flag and let my feelings out. "My father died for this flag; we risk our lives every day for this flag. I know you don't agree with the war, and you don't have to because you're an American. You have the right to disagree with your government… but you  _never_  drag this flag on the ground like some two year old toting around a blanket. Have  _some_  respect for the men and women dying in the name of it." The protesters are silent. Our actions won't change their minds, nor do I want them to.

Finally one speaks up, "How can you fight for a country that's okay with killing kids?" They hold up a newspaper from about a week ago about how an American, Marvel, shot an Iraqi girl, Rue.

Peeta puts his arm in front of me. We're here representing the armed forces, not to pick a fight. "We don't fight for a country that says it's alright to kill children, or civilians,” he tells them, “And we'll be damned if Marvel isn't rotting behind bars. Come on, Katniss…" We walk away, leaving the protesters a little stunned by our actions, but soon regain our composure. "That was pretty ballsy of you…"

I smile, "Thanks… I just, I understand their anger, but…" I groan. Having already spoken about this, he knew what I was going to say. I hear my phone ringing in my pocket, "Aw, come on…" I grumble, but this time it's Prim. "Hey, what's up, little duck?" I greet her, still jogging.

"Katniss! I don't have school today… Can we maybe meet up?"

"Yeah sure, what did you have in mind?" I ask, now slowed to a walk as we lie down in the shade in Lafayette Square.

"Maybe grab some lunch and go to a museum before we're down in the cultural wasteland known as North Carolina?" I wince at her answer; she still hasn't warmed to the move.

"Definitely. We're actually out on a run, but we'll be back soon… how does twelve hundred sound?" I ask as she groans.

"You and your fancy  _military time_. No problem, where are you staying?"

I pick at some grass, "The St. Regis? Just ask the front desk to call up when you're here," I tell her while drinking in a sweaty Peeta, licking my lips a little.

"Eww, why, don't want me to walk in on you jumping Sergeant Mellark's bones?" she teases.

"Actually, yeah. I gotta go, Prim. See you soon…"

"Wait… what? Katniss!"

"Love you!" I hang up and shove the phone back in my pocket. "Prim wants to spend the day with us. I hope that's okay." Peeta just smiles and kisses my forehead. I guess so.

The rest of our run goes uneventfully, no more protestors or phone calls. Just the two of us on a quiet run with the morning sun beating down on us.

When we arrive back at the suite, room service has already been through, seeing as our dress blues are on hangers and placed on coat hooks. On the table, we find a folded card.

_-Thank you_

I smile, at least someone appreciates what we we’re doing. "How much time do we have until your sister gets here?" Peeta asks as the shower turns on.

"Like… noonish?" I say as the water shuts off.

"Then get over here," he commands. I pull my sweaty shirt over my head and toss away my sports bra. My pants and underwear are next, falling in my wake as I walk to an awaiting Peeta. I barely brush my lips against his before walking over to the massive tub and turning the faucet on.

"We should at least use it once…" I set the water to just the right temperature, not too warm, not too cold. I watch him shrug off his clothes as I sit on the cool marble counter between the two sinks.

He comes over to me, now completely naked, with one hand on the mirror to support his weight while the other spreads my legs apart. His touch is feather light, but enough to spark a fire. "You're perfect…" he mumbles against my lips.

"Then you need to get your eyes checked," I tease, and he slides two fingers inside me in response. I gasp as our kisses deepen, tongues sliding together, wrestling for dominance. My hand finds his throbbing erection, hard and thick, just waiting for me and only me. That thought alone is enough to bring me from wet to soaked.

"Peeta!" I gasp when he adds a third. My movement on his cock becomes less than regular, more like jerky half motions, so I push his hand away. He spent so much time pleasuring me yesterday, so I could only do the same for him today. I push his hand out of me, immediately feeling the vacancy. He steps back as I slip from the counter and crouch down in front of him. He smiles, which disappears into a groan as I take him in my mouth.

"Mmmm," I groan against him as I take in his taste. He's sweaty, but still there's something about it that gets me so… hot. He braces himself against the counter as I timidly fondle his package, being careful not to be too rough with him. I can tell when he's getting close, and I give him one last long lick before pulling up. I'm dripping wet, enough that it runs down my legs.

"Please?" I ask, pouting. I start to get back on the counter but he pulls me off, turning me around and forcing me to bend over.

"Someday soon, I'll make love to you…" he says, spreading my legs a little and gripping my hips.  "Now is not the time, though.” I watch him in the mirror, his large muscular body gripping my smaller toned form before he guides himself inside me. I gasp, my eyes squeezing shut as I moan. His hands are in my hair, jerking my head up roughly and gingerly at the same time, causing my eyes to snap open. "Keep your eyes open while I fuck you," he purrs. I nod against his hand, feeling the strands of my black hair pull, sending a lightning jerk across my skin. I hate to admit it, but I love it when he pulls on my hair.

The sounds of our moans fill the room. Well, his moans, my almost screams once he brings his hand forward to rub my clit. I study his face, loving and thoughtful, but still so lustful as he studies my body. Lust he feels only for me, or so I hope.

I feel my orgasm begin to build quickly with the addition of his thrusts, each one hitting me in just the right spot. The only thing keeping me up when it finally comes is his hand in my hair, which stays firm as my body jerks around and falls forward as he pushes me further and further over the edge. I feel his thrusts become more frantic until finally he crashes into me, spilling his milky white seed deep within my core. He leans forward, his sweaty chest resting against my equally sweaty back. We breathe together, somehow syncing up until we're breathing slow and even once more. He pulls away from me, shutting the bath water off and handing me a wad of toilet tissue as the product of our 'fucking' now runs down my legs.

"Here, I made a mess of you. I'll clean you up," he tells me. Before I can argue, he starts wiping me clean, much to my embarrassment.

"I'm not four, I can wipe my own bottom!" I jerk up, in just enough time for him to throw the semen covered tissue in my face. "Peeta!" I squeal, not willing to continue with his shenanigans. I toss the paper in the trash as he scoops me up and lowers me into the water. It's a little warm, but should cool off eventually. He gets in behind me, effortlessly moving my body so I can lay comfortably against his wet chest. We just lay there, relaxing, until a memory comes back to me.

"Remember… back in Basic when they'd have us wearing everything… then jump in the pool?" I ask. I can feel his laughter vibrate through him.

"That was the worst,” he chuckles. “Then they'd tell you to go under and attack you." I nod. To be honest, that part was the most fun for me.

"I liked it, except for treading water in Kevlar," I say. I can almost  _feel_  Peeta roll his eyes.

His hands find my breasts, giving them a light squeeze that makes me yelp. "But you have these to keep you up," he whispers as I blush. I don't have a large chest, backside or womanly curves. Instead, I'm one hundred and thirty five pounds of muscle and the thick black hair on my head. I don't have an hourglass figure; if anything, I'm boyish. Prim has the ideal figure, curves and everything. She takes after our mother. I, on the other hand, am the spitting image of our father.

"I don't have much of  _those…_ " I protest.

"You have just enough, perfect handfuls, anything more is a waste." I turn my head a little to rest my ear against his chest to listen to his heartbeat, all the while marveling at how he knows just what to say and always at the right time.

We relax for only a short while before getting in the shower to clean off. "You have so much hair…" he says, massaging my scalp with the foamy shampoo.

"Yeah, so do you," I tease while I shave my legs. For whatever reason, I feel perfectly comfortable doing this in front of him, no matter how unflattering.

"Hey," he runs his hands through my slippery hair, "It's still in regulation, not longer than three inches." I chuckle and stand up straight so the shower head can beat down on me. The best part about this bathroom is that the showers are located behind the tub, separated by a glass wall with two separate heads.

"So why are you bathing me?" I ask as he works conditioner into my hair.

"I've been done for a while and I like seeing you naked?" The corners of my mouth upturn into a slight smile at his words. "What? I couldn't stand around and gawk, you might feel awkward." I lather my body with soap, facing away as I rub my hands over my breasts.

"You're crafty… or perverted…" I tell him, rinsing off.

The phone rings exactly at noon. "Hello?" Peeta asks, answering the call. "Sure, send her up," he replies, hanging up the phone. "A Miss Primrose Everdeen is at the front desk," he declares as I finish up my mascara just before we hear a knock at the door.

"Can you get that, babe?" I ask, going to tame my now dry hair.

"Kat, seriously?" he questions, dangling my underwear on his finger.

"Just… shove it in the couch, or throw it in a corner or something!" I grin, braiding my hair. He snaps it in my direction, ignoring everything else.

"Peeta!" Prim shouts. I watch from the doorway as my sister wraps her arms around him. Every ounce of girliness I was denied when my mother and father's divided chromosomes met up almost twenty three years ago was transferred to Prim.

"Hey, Prim. Katniss'll be out in a minute."

"Wooooowwwww," she gasps. " _This_  is where you're staying?" she asks.

"Yeah," I confirm, walking out of the room still in my underwear and stepping into a white sundress. I can be girly just this once. "We could have had butler service… but…" I flop down on the couch, pulling on my socks and cowboy boots, "We figured that would be a little much."

"Please, because one couple needs… how many bedrooms are in here?"

"The Corps can't know we're a couple, Prim…" Peeta says sadly. "It would mean we'd get separated; sometimes different platoons, or even entirely separate posts. Plus, it could result in a lot of harassment from the men for your sister." I nod and pick the lint from my skirt, grabbing my aviators from the coffee table. They're scuffed and dusty from our day under the building, but they're mine and perfect.

"Yeah, so they gave us enough rooms to cohabitate peacefully and not be kept up by someone's snoring… Sergeant Mellark," I start, handing him my usual ID's, phone and money, followed by the room key.

"I do not snore, Sergeant Everdeen," he scoffs, closing the door behind us as my sister chuckles.

"You two are so cute," she says with a smile as we enter the sunlight, both putting on our sunglasses at the same time. "Even with your mean drill sergeant glasses on."

We eat lunch at a small bistro by the Museum of Natural History, enjoying the sunshine which is soon dampened by the muggy humidity. "I never thought I'd miss Iraq…" I grumble, twirling pasta around on my fork.

"Right? It's like living in a sauna!" Peeta pulls at his collar while Prim looks at us in shock.

"It's not bad. Seriously, you two are crazy. I bet you'd rather be in your full fatigues, bulletproof vests and helmets, baking in the sun," Prim sighs as we look at each other. "No!" she points her fork at me, "Bad Katniss!" I put my hands up defensively.

"I'm not goin’ back again after this tour. Maybe my next deployment will be to Afghanistan, or perhaps Germany? Maybe even somewhere in Asia?" I surmise, chewing my food and swallowing it.

Prim doesn't say anything else, but I know more will be coming. She'll just wait to release it when she has our mother to back her up. "So… will you be home for Christmas?"

"Not unless I can get leave, but after this…doubtful. We can always Skype?" She just sighs in response, making me feel guilty.

"Have you spoken to  _Rory?_ " I ask, saying his name like a swooning girl.

"Yeah, he and I have a date when I get down there," she teases.

"Aren't you a little young to date?" Peeta asks, crossing his arms over his chest, his voice filled with a father-like concern.

"I'm seventeen! In a few months, I'll be old enough to enlist and-"

"No, don't even joke about that. Whatever happened to going to med school?"

"Med school?" Peeta questions, raising his eyebrows.

I smile and nod, "Prim's crazy smart, I know she can do it…"

"Just have to figure out how to pay for it…" she says glumly.

"There are scholarships out there for crazy things. I'm sure you can get a ton of money for being related to two Purple Heart recipients and Marines, along with being from a one parent home." I nod at this, Peeta's words ringing true.

"Yeah, you two were in the newspaper, front cover. Mom wants to frame it. Last time you were in the paper was when…"

"Prim!" I caution.

"You and Gale went cow tipping and got caught!" she says loudly and quickly. "Mom still has your mug shots. She says, 'That girl always has a scowl on her face, even when she was caught red handed, always defiant'." I put my hand over my head in embarrassment.

"Cow… tipping?" Peeta asks.

"You know…when you go to a farm at night, hop the fence, then… push a cow over on its side?"

"Ahhh…"

"Don't ask, it  _was_  Gale's idea, I just… energetically agreed."


	14. The Ace of Spades

"Well, are you at least using protection?" my mother asks. I roll my eyes; Prim isn't one for keeping secrets.

"I'm on the pill," I shrug, looking over the half wall as Prim talks Peeta's ear off endlessly while they watch the Nationals unfortunately beat the Phillies into submission.

" _Katniss_ ," she hisses. At least my mother knows, from years of working in hospitals, how to keep important conversations between two people. "What if they put you on an antibiotic in the hospital?"

"They didn't… I checked my medical records," I say, tearing up lettuce for the salad with my hands. "What? I needed to make sure they didn't give me anything that might interfere with my shooting…"

"Is that really what's important to you?" _Here we go again…_

"Right now, Mom? Yes, my job is very important to me, and I need to be able to perform my job or else people could die!" She bristles a little at my tone, which is just sharp enough to get my point across.

"You love him…"

"Love isn't an emotion I can afford to feel right now," I gulp, continuing to tear at lettuce. "Or ever for that matter," I add in a low voice.

"What about family? What if he wants to settle down some day?"

"Then he's free to procreate and settle wherever he wants," I retort, idly chopping a carrot. "Mom, I'm twenty-two, I have a great job where I can only go up, and I'm helping people. _Breeding_  and _marriage_  are the least of my concerns."

My mother just rolls her eyes. She wants grandchildren, even though I don't want children. Italian women, especially southern Italian like my mother, want grandbabies like a fat kid wants chocolate cake.

She'll have to wait for Prim.

"I'm going to go sit down…" I tell her, knowing I can use my injured leg as an excuse to sit with my boyfriend. I press a hand to it for good measure, earning a sympathetic frown as I hurry to the couch. Ok, maybe I am sore, but not from my leg.

I rest my head on Peeta’s shoulder, inhaling deeply to take in his scent.

I'm not in love… Or am I?

"Hey babe," he kisses my cheek, "You feeling okay?"

 I nod, smiling, "Just a little sore." I pat my leg, hoping Prim will keep her mouth closed.

"Aw come on!" she slouches. "Mom! I'm going to be a Nationals fan now!" she shouts into the kitchen.

"You can tell that to your father; he'd roll over in his grave if you told him that."

"Could be worse! Could be the Yankees," I hear her say as my eyes find the worn leather armchair no one ever sits in.

No one could ever fill the void in that chair. A warm hand covers my cheek, thumb stroking lovingly as it brushes away tears I didn't realize I was shedding. Peeta says nothing, choosing not to pry but instead waiting for doors to open.

* * *

 _530_. The numbers threaten to bore a hole in my mind. How is it already 530?

I was big spoon tonight. Well, more like the little spoon that happened to fall behind the big spoon. I slip out of bed undetected, my lover still breathing evenly and heavily. Unfortunately, I bump into the corner of the bedframe, not only shaking the bed but emitting a loud curse that jolts Peeta from his slumber.

"Wha… morning already?" he mumbles.

"Go back to sleep, babe, I'm just going to take my test…"

"Want me to go with you?" he yawns, rubbing his eyes.

"No, I'll be back after lunch. I don't want you to waste your day waiting around for me to fail…"

"You're not going to fail…"

I step into my sports bra, gingerly pulling it up over my stitches. "I'm completely out of practice," I grumble, sliding my underwear up my legs. Peeta watches as I set my case on the bed and slide the dials on the lock to the appropriate numbers so the easily forcible locks will spring open.

"Impossible, you just took a break…" he yawns, reaching for the phone to order breakfast.

"Something's... not right here…" I mutter, as my gun isn't sitting nicely in the case.

I pull the gun out. The weight feels awkward in my hand since there's no barrel. Nestled under where the stock was just sitting is a blood covered book, _To Kill a Mockingbird._

I pick up the pages, once soaked with Rue's blood, flipping idly through them when a playing card suddenly falls out.  The Ace of Spades, with a note in familiar writing.

_Do not use until you see the whites of their eyes._

_-Major Abernathy_

"Seems the Major has a plan forming… would have been nice for him to tell us," I say, setting the book down, afraid to damage it. The Major wants me to use this in the trial somehow, but not until I see the whites of the defense’s eyes…

"Not until they're close or seem to be gaining the upper hand," Peeta says, flipping the note over several times before taking the book and putting it in his bedside table, right next to the Bible. "I thought this was lost in the rubble…" I close my gun case after determining that my eyes are still not what they were pre-concussion. Not terribly off, but enough to drive me insane and fill me full of anxiety.

Peeta is already in the bathroom when I slide down my underwear. "I didn't know we were at this stage of our relationship, urinating in front of each other," he jokes, toweling off his face as I roll my eyes.

"What, I have to go and I’m not going to any of the  _other_  bathrooms. What are you, crazy?" I ask.

He shrugs, putting a toothbrush in his mouth before opening the cabinet under the sink, setting my box of tampons close to the toilet.

Now THIS isn't a stage we're at in our relationship. "Turn around!" I shriek.

"Katniss, I've seen you naked before… and  _very_  bloody,"

"Peeta, turn around… now," I demand. He rolls his eyes, his back to me as I take care of this embarrassing mess. Hey, at least I know I'm not pregnant. "Okay, we're good," I tell him after flushing and putting my underwear back on, "Crisis averted." I try to not show my absolute embarrassment that he had to see that.

He kisses my cheek as I brush my teeth. "Katniss, don't worry about it. I've seen you near death and soaked in your own blood, this is nothing."  

I nod slowly, still embarrassed.

"What to wear today…" he teases as I throw on fatigues. I’m required to be in uniform for my test today.

"How about nothing?" I suggest, leaning back in the bed to tuck my shirt in, lifting my hips up with my back and legs when I need to get the back. "Then I can come home and you can comfort me… oh wait. Dammit!" I hiss.

"Hey, I can still benefit from this situation," he says seductively. I button up my fly and slide my feet into my well-worn boots, my eyes never leaving his.

"I will… consider your proposal," I slide my belt through the loops, adjusting it only slightly inwards. Since leaving for Iraq, I've taken off a good deal of weight, most likely through sweat. "Models should try this…" I say out loud.

"Try what?"

"Sweating their fat out through their pores; I'm down a few pounds," I confirm, throwing my fatigue jacket over my shoulder and grabbing my gun case.

"You'll do great," he tells me, clad only in his underwear while I'm in full military garb. What an odd pair we make.

"If you say so," I say flatly, feeling a twinge of cramping, which will just prove to be another distraction.

His firm hands are on my shoulders and he forces me to look at him, "I don't say, I know…" He kisses me with a ferocity that makes me want to hop back in bed and see if we can replicate the feeling over and over until we're out of breath and our lips are bruised, but I have to go.

"Be good while I'm gone," I tease as he hands me my case. They'll have to inspect it to make sure I'm not cheating somehow, but I used the same gun in my test last time.

"No promises…" He walks me to the door, his hand in my pocket grabbing at my backside every few steps. "Hey, Katniss…"

"Hmm?" I ask, checking to be sure I have my wallet, papers and military ID.

"Shoot straight." I stick my tongue out and close the door behind me.

* * *

In Iraq, everyone's life is in danger 24/7. It builds a sense of unity not found at Quantico. That's not to say there isn't a brotherhood here, but there's definitely a social ladder.

I walk in line with Colonel Boggs, which seems to perturb him beyond the way he bristled when he learned that Staff Sergeant Everdeen was a woman. He idly chatted with me before reaching a dead end. "Back up to the line, cover your left eye and read the bottom line," he commands. Vision test, oh joy.

"Do you wear glasses and/or contacts?"

"No, sir." I say, taking a deep breath. I can make out the bottom line as always, though a lot of the letters could resemble other letters at this distance. But I need 20/20 to pass. "Papa, Foxtrot, Charlie, Zulu, Delta, Tango, Lima, Echo," I recite as he nods.

"Other eye," he orders while pulling down another chart.

"Alpha, Oscar, X-ray, Yankee, Foxtrot, Papa, Echo, Romeo, Juliet."

"Well, that's the easy part." He turns his back to me and I roll my eyes. No, shooting would be the easy part. "Did you study, Sergeant?"

"I figured my real life experiences would be enough. Is it written and physical again?"

"Of course, we have another  _actual_  class taking the exam at this time."

"Want them to show me up?" I smirk.

"Please, because Secret Service would have just some scrub with the gun pointed at Snow." He opens the door to the classroom, revealing a class of stereotypical Marines with shaved heads and muscular builds, all easily weighing twice as much as me, and not a single woman among them.

"And our final victim," I set my unlocked case on the desk up front for inspection, and take a seat up front. All of the men are Lance Corporals, the lowest rank allowed to undergo sniper training. And here I am, a Staff Sergeant who will most likely be tested for Gunnery Sergeant the second we get to Baghdad.

Since I don't have my jacket on, I could have been a starry-eyed Corporal just like them for all they know. "Bring your own piece? What, afraid their big bad guns here will kick your little shoulder too hard?"

"No, the Remmy's they have here have nothing on my Barrett."

Boggs is already in my case, screwing on my barrel. "Beautiful little number you got here, Everdeen…"

"Thanks, she's my baby," I say proudly while he examines the trigger guard, the bolt, everything.

"Never have kids, Sarge, this baby's scuffed and scratched. You should get a new one when you get back to Fallujah…"

I rest my elbow on the table, my chin in my palm. "Thanks, but she survived a building falling on top of her, so she'll survive Baghdad… Or wherever the hole I'll be stationed in is…"

He just sighs, "Now this is a real weapon. You jackasses would be honored just to _hold_ something like this." He puts my gun away, but not before looking through my scope, "Beautiful…"

The written test is easy - calculating gun positions based on wind speeds and distance, and random situation questions. Naturally, I’m the first one done, having completed this exam before, though last time I got two questions wrong.

"Have a seat outside… looks like you scored better on your written than last time. One hundred percent, Sergeant Everdeen!" he says, shaking my hand.

It takes about a half hour for the rest of the class to finish and join me outside for the physical portion. As always, it begins with a mile run. In the hot June sun and disgusting Virginia humidity, I naturally lead the pack, the big burly men carrying more weight than my lithe, limber body.

Finally, we're up to the practical. "Any volunteers?" Boggs asks, even though I know what's coming. "Let's go in order… smallest to tallest." I roll my eyes and step forward.

"You could have just said ladies first, sir," I grumble. My case is already out here, beautiful and ready for me. I slap the magazine in, earning a few wolf whistles, and my personal favorite,  _'I'd let her handle my gun any day.'_

"Your target is a middle aged female," I’m told as I screw on my silencer, "Confirmed location," and here's the corny part, "One thousand yards from your current location. You may take the shot prone, seated or standing. Be advised that this is timed and-"

The gun is at my shoulder before he finishes giving me my orders. I see "her" - a dummy surrounded by "civilians". I aim for the kill zone in the head, flick my gun off safety and take my shot before he can finish talking.

"Target neutralized," I reply, turning my gun back on safety as he fiddles with his computer, probably hooked up to the now dead dummy.

"Right between the eyes... Get in that blind and await further orders." It's hot in there, kind of smelly from disgusting man, but I can sit down. "Alright,” he starts, “Your next target follows the same route between Fallujah and his home outside of town every day. He has with him his two daughters and wife, though he is wanted in connection with an IED that destroyed a convoy four days ago. What is your course of action?"

"Eliminate my target," I state, seeing the dummy standing profile to me, with two smaller dummies 'holding its hand' while a fourth follows behind. I take aim, the target only about a thousand feet ahead of me. I squeeze my trigger.

"Very good, Everdeen. Come back to the rest of the group," he orders as I throw my gun on safety again.

"And that, boys, is how you become certified as a Scout Sniper.  Well, one of the ways. Dismissed, Everdeen," we salute, "And do a good job on Monday. Don't let a student of mine get away with cold blooded murder."

"Sir, Marvel was one of yours?" I ask incredulously.

"He was in  _your_  class, Everdeen," he reminds me.

I had to get back to DC and tell Peeta. Instead, I decide to call him once I'm situated.

"Peeta… I think I found our second secret weapon…"

He sounds groggy, having been woken up by the hotel phone ringing, "What's that, babe?"

"Marvel was in the same sniper class as me. The second he brings up anything about training… Oooooh."

"Well, tell that to the prosecution. They're coming to the hotel to meet with us in an hour."

"What? That's supposed to be tomorrow!" I exclaim, throwing my weapon in the back seat and turning the car on.

"They need to meet with us as soon as possible to get our plan of action. Since you're driving, I'm going to let you go, babe. Drive safe."

"I will."

"Also, great job on your test…" I smile a little. _How does he know?_


	15. Trial By Fire

"It's just a puppet trial…" I grumble into my eggs, suddenly not hungry.

Peeta sighs at our impasse.  He believes that it’s real, while I’m sure it’s just a show, "Kat…"

"Peeta… seriously," I burst the yolk to dip my toast in, nibbling idly. "We've met both the prosecution and the defense. They all seem… like puppets."

"Maybe they are, maybe they aren't. That doesn't change the fact that we have a job to do."

I nod slowly, shivering a little as the air conditioning kicks on, blowing straight through my robe, "So we can get back and actually do  _our_  job," I reply, sipping at my juice. I feel restless here in DC, just wanting to leave Marvel to face legal sanctions, and the other three shamed straight into the ground.

Peeta just sighs, his firm hand on my thigh, "Katniss… what's wrong?"

I sigh, my shoulders slumped in exhaustion, though it's barely 600. "Someone from Dreamland was killed in Fallujah yesterday, a car bomb in our old sector. It was no one we knew…"

"But it could have been you, it could have been me or Cresta, or Thresh…" I nod. "Kat, you do know that as Sergeant, especially since you're up for Gunny, when people die…" his voice trails off.

"If," I stress.

"If someone from our platoon dies, or goes missing, you may have to call home…" I nod slowly.

"There will be other people there who outrank me to do that…" I whisper.

* * *

"Coffee?" a man asks.

"No, thank you…" It’s the third time I’ve been asked, maybe they think I need to wash my mutilated muffin down with some tar-like coffee. Instead, I continue picking it apart, removing the blueberries and popping the large ones in my mouth.

The floor shakes, Peeta's leg bouncing nervously. "Stop that," I snap, resting my hand mid-thigh, "You're making  _me_  nervous." I forget we're under the watchful eyes of a military appointed defense team and rub my hand on the inside of his thigh, stroking the top with my thumb, feeling the smooth blue fabric of his pants.

" _Katniss…"_  he whispers. Though my movement is hidden under the well-worn table of the back office, I should know better. I move my hand from his leg and fold both them in my lap.

The puppet prosecution seems too busy to care. I could probably hike up my skirt and ride him and they wouldn't even notice.

"Ten of nine, let's go, you two. Miss Everdeen, be prepared to take the stand. The defense is getting right to business," a female voice says. Her name is Candice Belfleur, a tall, fierce Southern woman I'd respect if not for the fact that she oozes Capitol taint and slime.

Her partner in crime, August Salvatore, is older than Peeta and I put together, a hefty grey man who shares the same taint and reeks of cigarette smoke.

"Why wouldn't they want to extend it? It's all just a big show…" I grumble, grabbing a dress coat from the coat rack.

"Could you at least pretend to care?" Candice asks. "Also, do you think the Corps would give you something more… tailored?"

I look down at myself. The first hint that I'm in the wrong coat is the fact that I'm swimming in it, but naturally I notice the Oriental collar and Afghanistan medal, "I don't know, think I can pull it off?" I say, smirking.

I hand Peeta his coat, then button mine on, stupid collar and all. I feel the book press against my ribs. I haven't told anyone but Peeta about it, and I don't think he knows I brought it this soon.

We walk into the courtroom, and I immediately notice a few cameras positioned around the room. A combat journalist was in Fallujah that day and caught the whole incident on tape - the shot, the aftermath, the beginning of the firefight. It was their video that determined the building that collapsed on me was the result of a grenade explosion. Fortunately, for my sheer faith in my men, it's impossible to prove whether or not it was set off by a friendly. The daft reporter who saw it all sits stiff and confused next to me, behind the prosecution and a wooden half wall. Sitting in the row behind the defense and a very well dressed Marvel, are Cato, Clove, and Glimmer.

"All rise," a voice commands.

We stand there as the judge enters. The camera crews planted around the room trail his entrance, following his every move like my rifle on a target's path, waiting for a clearperfect shot.

"You may be seated," the bailiff says to the room. Peeta and I are the only two in dress blues. Marvel and the three witnesses for the defense had been discharged and stripped of all titles following their Court Marshal. I didn't pay the best attention to the defense’s opening statement, or even the prosecution's, I just stared at Marvel.

 _This man killed Rue, this man took what Peeta fights for away from him…_  I think, over and over.

"We call Staff Sergeant Katniss Everdeen to the stand," The sound of my name pulls me from my trance. I rise, tucking the bloody book away safely in my coat pocket, my hat under my arm and walk calmly to the stand.

"Raise your right hand," the bailiff commands, not bothering to bring a Bible. I make it abundantly clear that I’m not swearing on a book that doesn't hold any power over me. Instead, he holds a code and conduct book for the state of Maryland, laws that hold much more power over me than some scripture of a religion I don't follow. "You do affirm that all the testimony you are about to give in the case now before the court will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; this you do affirm under the pains and penalties of perjury?"

I nod slowly, "I swear."

He nods, "You may be seated." My eyes find Cato, Clove, and Glimmer, all three staring at me like I ruined their lives. They did this to themselves.

I look at Marvel's fancy attorney. Apparently, his father is loaded enough to buy a team of lawyers to get his son off a murder charge. All we have is what I saw and Peeta's way with words.

_Heh… Now I know how David felt._

The man opens a gun case, using a white cloth to grip it. He holds it awkwardly while addressing me.  "Miss Everdeen… do you know what this is?"

I lean forward a little, feeling nervous in my little witness pen, "Is… Is that a real question?"

"Your Honor…" he pleads.

"Sergeant Everdeen, answer the question," the judge says. I look to Peeta, who just nods.

"It's a Barrett Model 82," I state. The one thing I like about this rifle is the handgun-like stock. He holds it in that very spot, his finger dangerously close to the trigger guard.

"Would you say you're well versed in the workings of this weapon?"

"I am…"

"Well enough that your fingerprints were found on it?"

"I've never fired  _that_  weapon. I may have ripped it from the defendant's hands after he shot a ten year old," I snap.

"Your Honor, that is hearsay. I'd like to have that stricken from the record," he pleads.

"Granted," there's a pause, a lull. "Mister Flickerman, you may continue," he says, but the jury can't strike that from their memory.

"Thank you, Your Honor.  _Miss_  Everdeen," I narrow my eyes at him. He refuses to address me properly, but hands me the rifle.

"I'm sorry, I was mistaken," I say, running my hands over the piece, scuffed and dented, but still beautiful. "Would you like to object, or call me hostile if I say it's an M107, not an 82?" I click out the magazine and pull back the bolt, making sure those idiots didn't leave a round in.

All clear.

"Tell us about this rifle," he questions. I flip out the back stock and hold it as if I’m aiming for the ceiling fan. The scope is off for my eyes, and there's dust trapped inside, as well as a decent sized scrape.

"It's lightweight, barely kicks, and shoots fifty caliber round ammunition."

"Fifty, that's a lot of firepower," Flickerman says idly.

"One shot, one kill…" I mutter, putting the bolt back in place and setting the gun down in front of me.

"Yes, that is your motto, isn't it? You have that phrase tattooed on your shoulder blade, do you not?"

I narrow my eyes, "Yes, as a matter of fact I do."

"Your Honor!" Candice stands, " _What_  does the witness’ tattoo have to do with my murder trial?"

"I have a point," he starts.

"Continue, but one more objection and I'm sending this one back to Iraq. Lord knows we need some of her spunk over there…" he grumbles.

"Thank you, Your Honor," he moves closer to the stand and I back away. "Now, how would the defendant know this fact about you?"

I think about the first day when I was shirtless. Marvel was there when I taunted Cato. Oh shit. I knew just where this was going, "My first day in Iraq. I was changing my shirt with the door open. I figured I was surrounded by adults, so if one passed by it would be nothing."

"Who else was there?"

"Myself, Gale Hawthorne, Daniel Cato, Jacob Marvel, Lisa Clove, and Dina Glimmer…" I think, "And Sergeant Peeta Mellark, though he was a Corporal at that time."

I think about the time I spent alone in Peeta's room, and how I went there some nights. I'm about to be dragged through the mud.

"Ah yes, Mister Mellark. You spent a great deal of time with him," Flickerman says, walking over to the table to pull out schedules, my guard schedules, "Things seem to slip through the cracks, Miss Everdeen, responsibilities neglected."

"But I'm not the one on trial, am I?" I ask coldly, pulling at my sleeves.

"You may be, since you were the commanding officer of the defendant."

"One of them."

"Right, now… you are directly responsible for their actions, is that not correct?"

"You are correct, Caesar."

"Please, call me Mister Flickerman."

"Call me Sergeant."

He just smiles smugly. "You were responsible for keeping an eye on them, being there if they needed them, and where were you? On guard duty with the now Sergeant Mellark every night…then your names are off this schedule. Why is that?"

"I sprained my ankle during PT, and was taken off guard duty until medically cleared."

"Where were you during that time? Because Mellark's name isn't on here, either..."

"I was under direct orders to ensure Corporal Mellark became Sergeant Mellark."

"Where. Were. You. Miss Everdeen?" he says curtly, each word short and to the point.

"His room, every night, studying."

"Studying, please…"

I slam my hand on the desk-like bar in front of me where the rifle still rests, "I see what you are getting at, Mister Flickerman. You will not make me out to be some Marine Corps whore!"

"I would never do that, but it would be a good reason for you to disregard your duties. It's the only reason that seems to make sense."

"We were preparing for his Sergeant’s examination," I hiss through my teeth.

"Sure, late at night, with the door closed. You're both isolated from the rest of the world in a high stress environment. It's easy for anyone to cave into their more… carnal desires," he drawls, looking me over. I feel dirty, so very dirty.

"No…" I mumble.

"Were you, or were you not romantically involved with Peeta Mellark?"

"No, I was not." And it’s the truth. I mean, if he asks me if I am now, it would be perjury. But at the time, we were studying, keeping things strictly platonic.

"Then… after the incident in which the native girl-"

"Rue." I say strongly.

"Excuse me?"

"Rue… her name was  _Rue_. She was only ten years old. Her mother was killed in a firefight that claimed a good portion of the platoon before my arrival in Iraq." I feel it running through my veins, the anger, pure anger, like liquid fire. Hatred even.

"Your Honor," he starts, but I don't let up. I can't.

"Her full name is Rudrani Al-Zaidi, and her life was cut short by a sniper bullet originating from the sniper nest your  _client_  and I both spent four hours at a time in,” I pause to take a breath. “She walked with _Sergeant_ Mellark and myself or  _your client_  when he wasn't in the sniper's nest. Every. Day."

"Objection!" Flickerman shouts.

"And do you know what Rue was reaching for?" I ask, reaching inside my coat and throwing down the bloody book, " _To Kill A Mockingbird._ If I wasn't so disgusted, I'd find the irony in this. It's a  _sin_  to kill a mockingbird, isn't it? And before you continue with the 'you couldn't tell through the scope' argument, I've watched flowers bud on White House cherry trees through one of these on the far south lawn. But  _please_ , continue questioning me about a romantic incident that never happened, that will get us  _so_  far." I stand up and turn around, my hands behind my back, folded neatly so I stand at attention.

"Forgive me, Judge Crane, but I have my honor to protect, as well as the honor of my Sergeant, and even more so the honor of the United States Marine Corps," I salute. "I hope someday you can forgive me for my spectacle."

The man nods, giving me a small smile and I feel someone approach from behind. "Don't have to cuff me sir, I'll walk myself out," I say to the bailiff. His hand is on my lower back as I walk down the center aisle, my head held high.

There will be repercussions, I’m sure. I've embarrassed one of the top lawyers in the country, made a mockery of this courtroom, and spoken out of turn. But I humanized Rue; giving her a face, a name, and a personality. I could only hope that in some place, this trial is being broadcast live.

No one could censor my rant, not even Fox News.

I look to Peeta as I pass by. He only smiles and gives me a slight nod.

The bailiff waits until I’m outside of the courtroom, which has now erupted in shouts of a mistrial. The judge is being asked to strike my statements from the record, and to arrest me. He takes my arm and shoves me into the wall, "Hands behind your back."

"Can I at least take off my coat?" I ask. He throttles my wrist, forcing me to yelp, the noise echoing down the hallway. Sadly, it is lost in the noise from the courtroom until the door opens.

"What are you-"  _Peeta._

"Standard procedure," the bailiff grunts at him, not letting up on my wrist. My other arm is still trapped under me, but his weight makes me unable to bring it back.

"I asked to take off my coat," I smirk, turning my head to face him, feeling more pressure.

"You're going to break her wrist! Just let her take off her jacket, she doesn't want to disrespect her uniform. Surely you understand!" he pleads on my behalf, seeing the tear run down my cheek.

I hear banging, "Order!" Crane shouts, "Order in my courtroom!"

The pressure lets up and his weight is off me, "Here…" I say, handing Peeta my coat, which he folds neatly over his arm.

"Keep it safe," I tell him. He nods as I turn back to the wall, both hands behind my back. The cool metal of the cuffs is refreshing on my heated flesh, though somewhat taken away when the bailiff's hand finds the stitches keeping my bullet wound closed.  I cry out, tears coming from my eyes.

"Katniss…" I look over my shoulder at Peeta.  Damn, he's gorgeous, even when I have him worried sick with my smart mouth.

"I'm fine, Sergeant Mellark.  Go back inside, fight for her!" I shout. It's hard to walk while being pulled, "Don't let him walk with blood on his hands!"

"I won't!" I hear as I'm shoved into a tiny holding room containing a metal table, a chair and a hanging lamp.

"Don't try anything funny," he warns, flicking on the light and slamming the door, leaving me alone. I walk forward and lightly bump the lamp with my forehead, making it swing and creak for effect.

"Great…" I say, looking up at the loudly ticking clock, which reads 1049. _Wonderful…_ It’s not even eleven and I'm already raising hell.


	16. The Verdict

" _You two again?" My fingers scratch at the rough brick of the old firehouse. "What was it this time?"_

_I scratched my leg with the front of my boot, smoothing down my torn jeans, "We weren't doing anything, officer," I said innocently. He patted me down, searching my Carhartt jacket for anything that could get me in trouble._

_Gale had managed to keep quiet the whole time, smart enough to not sing. I, on the other hand, was dumb enough to talk back. "That's why I got a call that the Hawthorne boy and the Everdeen girl was messing around in the Cartwright's pasture. You're covered in mud, little lady, and I know Rory and Prim ain't gonna be out here raising hell." I looked down at my feet, the hay stuck to the mud in my treads. Gale had the idea to go cow tipping, and naturally I was eager to go. Too bad Old Man Cartwright found us._

" _You's oughta stay out of trouble, ya hear?"  I nod. "Hands behind your back, princess. If Cray hears I let you off with this shit again, he'll have my head."_

" _What! I didn't do nothin' wrong! We were just walking…"_

" _Hands behind your back, little miss. You should have more pride than this girl. An Everdeen, your kin always finds their way in my cuffs," he said as I put my hands behind my back. Here we go, the shameful backstory of the Everdeens and the Hawthornes and their crank cooking and general hell raising. Only my Daddy and Gale's kept out of that._

" _They're not my blood anymore, Darius," I tell him as the cuffs slap onto my wrists. "We stopped bein' kin the second they turned their backs on my starving sister…"_

" _Blood is blood, little lady," he said. I’m pulled away from the wall and placed in the cruiser where Gale already sat handcuffed._

" _We got a family code, deputy; they pissed on it the second we needed them." He just sighed, closing my door._

" _Both of ya need to start towing the line," he admonished. He turned the car on as I moved to sit on my hands. Still a lanky teenager, I could slip cuffs in front of me in a heartbeat._

" _Tell me a story, Darius," I asked. I had to distract him, but he would fall for it. He always would…_

_I didn't listen to him tell the story about how he took down a twelve point buck last deer season. Instead, I went to my hair where I had loose strands pushed back to my ponytail by bobby pins. Another talent of mine, picking locks, but only in cuffs though. I bit at the end of the bobby pin, bending it forward so the thing would form a key. With my right hand, I found the hole._

" _You double lock these?" Gale asked Darius._

" _Of course I did, what kind of deputy do you think I am?"_

_The kind that is letting a sixteen year old pick her way out of cuffs in the back of your car… 'Turn up, turn down,' the arm gave way and my hand was freed. Unlocking the other hand was easier, since I already had one freed. Getting Gale out was harder. He had to shift his arms only slightly so Darius wouldn't get suspicious. Fortunately, everyone was under the impression that we were together, Darius being one of them. When I scooted over, pressing my chest against Gale's arm but keeping my hands hidden, he didn't think anything of it. Finally, Gale was free and we held our cuffs behind our backs for the rest of the trip._

" _You're a bad influence on me," he whispered, kissing my cheek._

" _You're older, you're the influence," I tell him, blushing._

_Darius parks the car and comes to let me out, ladies first. "Here you go, deputy, thought you may want these," I hand him the cuffs while his jaw drops. He’s used to seeing Gale and I with cuffs in front of us, but never once had we broken out._

I pick my head up off the table. I've lost my teenage gawkiness, but that’s been replaced by strength. I flatten my hands on the chair,  _one… two… three…_  With a deep breath, I lift myself up, the metal digging deep into my skin and bones. I widen my elbows, making my hold weaker. If I fall, I’ll surely break a wrist. With my hands under my thighs, I stand up awkwardly, sliding the cuffs down as low as possible before bending my chest to my knees and sliding my arms down.

_One foot…_ I step through my arms awkwardly,  _here we go…_ I get the second one in and stand up, sliding the cuffs down to examine the damage. Deep long tracks mar my skin, some oozing a little blood where the edges cut in.

_What'll they do to me if I pick the lock…_  I think, staring at my hands. I've wiggled my way to having the cuffs in front of me. With the sixty bobby pins keeping my bun in place, I know I could definitely break out of them. Gale and I had spent a good amount of time in the back of Sheriff Cray's cruiser, though he'd whack us if he came to drop us off and we handed over our cuffs. Deputy Darius, on the other hand, just laughed and let us go. Except for that  _one_  time he hauled us in.

The door swings open and I jump up. "Gimme your hands, girl," he says. It's not the bailiff from the trial.

"What's going on?"

"Crane's got a soft spot for ya. You've got spunk, little girl," he chides, freeing my hands. "We figured either let you go or you'd let yourself go… And we didn't need you charging into the courtroom again. Just thought we'd keep you until you calmed yourself down…"

I flex my fingers, my pinkies and ring fingers numb from my struggle. "What happened, what did I miss?" I ask.

"They'll continue the trial as planned. Just treat your… filibuster… as… well, I don't know their lawyer talk, but shameful thing they tried to do to a gentle lady like yourself…"

"I've killed before, not very… gentle…" I reply. He just smiles, his kind old eyes on me.

"There's a difference between taking a life to save someone and killing. You best be remembering that, little lady. Now get along, you have a few minutes to get back to the Prosecution's room before the courtroom clears out. Your little speech is all anyone's talking about, everywhere."

I gulp, "Oh shit…"

"Are you insane?" she shouts as a tan folder comes down on my head. "Your little rant could have cost us this whole case!" Candice hits me again, but fortunately Peeta isn't in the room.

"I got mad! A little girl died and he can't even be bothered to say her damn name! Instead, he's trying to make me out to be some tramp!"

"That's what they  _do_. Do you think I go to work every day and get  _respect?_ Do you think I don't have to  _fight?_  You do it _subtly_."

"I'm a sniper, everything about my  _fighting_  is subtle. But when you, on live TV, try to make me out as some horny bitch in the desert, I'm not going to take it lying down!"

"Someone talk some sense into her!” she growls. “We need Katniss to take the stand again tomorrow and I can't examine her if she's going to go off!"

I stand up, challenging her, "Then don't examine me. I've made my speech. I've made the Corps look human, like we're not some blood thirsty monsters out to kill civilians. I can get on a plane and go back to Baghdad where shit makes sense."

"You leave and that man walks," Candice warns.

The door opens, it’s my savior. "Let's go back to the hotel, I need a big drink," I tell Peeta as I rub my wrists, the red marks still visible.

"Here…" he starts quietly, his eyes on my hands. "It'll cover the marks." He hands me my coat. It fits perfectly, tailored to be comfortable but still allow movement.

"Thanks," I nod. He hands me my hat next, though I can't hide my face. I'm the girl who went off on a tirade with cameras everywhere. And I was supposed to be respectful.

* * *

"Well…" I start as the door closes, "Let me hear it."

"Hear what? That was amazing!" Peeta says, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my neck gently. "They tried to divert the blame from the person pulling the trigger to the person above him… And you put them in their place…" He shifts so he’s in position to pick me up.

"Are you going to put me in my place?" I ask seductively.

"Yeah, the tub." I smile, a tub sounds nice, only the phone starts ringing.

"You start the bath… I'll get that." His lips find my cheek as I answer the screaming phone. "Hello?"

"You've made a mockery of our court system, shamed the top lawyer in this country, and stirred up the entire nation… I hope you're happy with yourself."

I gulp. So President Snow _can_ make his own calls, "Kind of…"

"This is a media shitstorm, Miss Everdeen. You were supposed to make the armed forces look good! That's why I set this whole damn thing up, not so you could throw a tantrum," he snaps.

"Forgive me, sir. This may be just some trial for you, but I have my career and the rest of my life to deal with. I can't have some pompous dick insult me, make me out as some harlot when his client killed a baby girl. I wasn't the one who put the cameras in there."

"I have half a mind to send you back to Iraq on the next plane…"

"Apparently I'm taking the stand tomorrow," I say, looking at my surprisingly clean nails. "My momma didn't raise no fool, Mister President. She also didn't raise a doormat. Now, I won't agree to saying that I was out of line, because I was in the right in there. But I can promise you that I will only go off like that again if Flickerman decides he'd rather be accusing me of his client's crimes."

"Still full of piss, vinegar, and fire… Remember, Sergeant Everdeen, the country is watching you. Your job is to convince the country that you believe war is the right course of action."

"I can do that…" I tell him quietly.

"No, you'll have to do better than that. Convince  _me_ , Everdeen." The line goes quiet.

I slam the phone down, pulling my tie-like thing off and throwing it on the kitchen table. I stand like a slouched statue in the doorframe between our bedroom and the bathroom.

"Peeta…"

"Yes, babe?"

"Turn off the tub." There's a hollow quality to my voice. He obeys, shutting off the water. "Come here…" I whisper, taking his hand. It easily eclipses mine and I lead him to the bed. I don't need the passion we've shown in the last few days. I need his loving tenderness. He helps me out of my shirt, discarding my bra before unzipping my skirt and pulling it down along with my dark pantyhose.

"Lay on your stomach," he whispers, kissing down my neck and to my shoulder blades.

I do as he says, laying across the bed, my head propped up against his pillow. I take in the scent as he strips out of his blues, leaving only his boxers on as he sits on my thighs. "Too much weight?" he asks.

"What are you doing?" I ask, not answering his question.

"Rubbing your back…" Peeta’s fingers trace up my spine, his large, tender hands finding my shoulders. He rubs the tightness out of the base of my neck with his thumbs. "You're so tight back here…"

"I've been carrying a large weight on them for the last eleven years…"

"Mhm…" I feel his fingers trace my tattoo, but he doesn't ask about it. Instead he works on my sides, making me flail. "Why did you lie today?" he inquires.

"About what?"

"Us…" He traces my ribs with his fingertips.

"I was never asked if we were together now, just if we were intimate then. I didn't do anything wrong," I yawn and feel his lips on my spine.

"How are your wrists?"

"Sore… I'm just short enough to still get out of cuffs. Cray and Darius would be proud," I smirk. Peeta chuckles and moves on to my lower back. It feels so good to actually have someone work out the kinks in my back and muscles.

"I wouldn't know, I managed to stay under their radar…" He leans forward and kisses the base of my neck.

"No, you could have done anything, since you were from the town," I yawn. "Gale and I were from the outskirts, the Seam… Plus, I'm an Everdeen and he's a Hawthorne, so we were bred to raise hell…"

"Is it true? About your uncles?"

"Cooking? Yeah… only my Daddy and Gale's kept as far away from that as possible. Apparently it violated the family code, ‘Don't sing, and protect your kin.’ When Daddy was captured, we were still getting his checks. Though after he died, Momma was too sick with grief to file for any help or do any  _real_  work," I sigh. His hands rest low on my hips, his thumbs making small circles in the tight flesh. "You know the rest…"

"Mhm…" We sit there quietly, me enjoying the feeling of his weight on me, him most likely enjoying the view before he finally speaks.

"Want to get into the tub?" he proposes, unpinning my hair so it fans out across my back.

"Not yet… I want you…" I purr and roll over, making him sit up a little. Once I'm on my back, I reach forward, stroking his semi-erect package through the grey material of his underwear.

I watch him melt, like putty in my hands, a dopey grin taking over his face. I sneak my hand in and pull him out, watching him grow under my touch. I let go just long enough to watch him take off his final piece of clothing, throwing it down with the rest of our laundry.

"You're amazing…" I breathe as his gentle hands spread my legs, which I had closed tight to hide the dampness that formed all for him. He glides the head from the source of the moisture to my clit, rubbing me with it. Because of Mother Nature, this is the first time we've been fully intimate for the last few days, so _I_  wouldn't be lasting long. Peeta, on the other hand, has been getting blow jobs like crazy  - in the shower, while brushing his teeth, before bed, or any time I wanted to feel him writhe under my touch.

I'm dreading our return to Iraq.

Once I'm wetter than I thought possible, he enters me slowly. It’s too slow for my tastes, so I wrap my legs around him and pull him in the rest of the way. "Not tonight, Katniss…" he mumbles, bringing his hand forward to stroke my cheek. His hands find mine, our fingers tying together. He doesn't withdraw though, but sits still, teasing me. I clamp my muscles around him and try to move my hips, but he pushes into me, stalling my movements. He presses my hands into the mattress, leaning down so I'm pinned, his lips barely brushing mine. His eyes find the red marks on my wrists, deep imprints that ooze a little blood from my struggle and "arrest".

"I tried to escape…" I whisper. He rolls his eyes and I drop one thigh from his waist. We sit there, lips brushing, him inside me for a few minutes. I enjoy the sensation until he shifts upright and begins thrusting slowly, almost too slowly.

I whimper, wanting him to go faster. But every deliberate movement Peeta makes is loving and tender, which in and of itself drives me over the edge. I run my hands down his chest and abs, feeling the muscles under my shaky touch. He brings his arms forward, pulling me flush with his body once my legs are folded neatly under me. Our tongues wrestle for dominance before I break free of his lips. I trail kisses down his jaw and neck, biting gently to mark him as mine.

I'm somewhat in control now, nibbling and sucking on his flesh, biting every so often to elicit a moan. The thrusts now come at the speed I set, not too fast or to slow. Normally our hungry moves leave me immobilized, now we have the chance to explore each other. Our hands tangle in each other's hair, scratches and bite marks littering our skin when we finally finish in a tangle of sweaty limbs and sheets. I throw my leg over his and press myself close to him.

We sit in silence, watching the sun trail across the sky before I finally speak, "I fucked up…"

"Mhm…"

"I'll be lucky if I'm not met with my own court martial, demoted, or discharged. They'll never even let me try to become an Officer." Peeta holds me close, smoothing down my sweaty hair.

"Major Abernathy sent you here because he knew you would do something like this," he finally tells me.

"What?" I jump up.

"Cresta was supposed to come, but…"

"You  _knew_?"

"Katniss, calm down," he says, his hands stroking the sides of my arms to calm me. "I overheard Paylor, Odair, and Abernathy. Odair didn't think Cresta could do it; she's been pretty buggy since our last Sergeant was blown up in front of her." I nod as he continues, "So Abernathy suggested you. You were in charge, and he said that you have a spine and would rather be dead than let some hot shot lawyer walk all over you."

I pull away from his grasp and bury my face in my pillow. "I'm going to bite his head off," I say into the soft down.

* * *

"And was there any animosity between the group?" Flickerman asks.

"I wouldn't say animosity, more like distrust," Peeta shifts nervously inside the witness stand.

"Distrust?"

"Our previous Sergeant, and much of our platoon. The people we had been sent there with were taken out by an IED in Fallujah and the firefight that resulted."

"Ah yes, absolutely dreadful…" Flickerman seems almost friendly with Peeta, the jerk…

"Yeah, when they started filling spots in with fresh faces, followed by a Sergeant who's never been deployed before? It confused some people to say the least."

"Including yourself?"

"I was able to get ahold of her résumé. I'm sure you've seen it?"

"I have, quite impressive for a twenty-two year old."

"Yes, but are we really still trying to pin negligence on her? We've both made it abundantly clear that nothing was going on between us."

Flickerman looks like someone has ruffled his feathers. "He's your witness," he tells Candice.

"I do not have any questions for Sergeant Mellark,” she announces. “Instead, I'd like to bring forward the testimony of Corporal Annie Cresta, who couldn't be with us because of a mission she was assigned in Baghdad. You've already reviewed her statement, haven't you, Mister Flickerman?"

He just waves. "Alright, I have transcripts for you, Your Honor, and the jury." She passes out the papers as Peeta takes his seat next to me.

An audio recording begins playing. "Can you please tell me what you heard?"

I can hear Annie’s voice, clear and fearful. "I heard them discuss how they were getting bored in the city. How we saw no action considering we were the most active area in the first month…"

"Bored? In a war zone?"

"I guess… "

"Did anyone else hear this?"

"Not that I know of, it was late and no one was around. I was on my way back from watch."

"So no one to back you up?"

"No, sir."

"Did you hear anything else?"

"Only that they wanted to start something as payback for half of our platoon being killed, and to make sure they got the 'fire girl' out of the way before she figured out what was going on."

"Fire Girl… you mean the deceased civilian?"

"No, sir, the men in Dreamland have a nickname for our Sarge. She's the best shot on the base, hands down. The men refused to explain it as talent, so they said she was 'on fire.'"

I look at Cato, who is just sneering at me. _He_ told Marvel to take me out. The bullet wasn't meant for me, but to pull me away from combat. The grenade that collapsed the building was thrown by Marvel. It had to have been.

He meant to kill me.

I lean over the barrier, needing to do damage control. Threat against my life or not, there was a plot to kill civilians. I couldn't let the country think that we were like that, "Put me on the stand," I tell August, "I won't go off like yesterday." He gives me a skeptical look in return. "Please, I'm begging you or I'll make another speech out of turn." He rolls his eyes and nods.

"We'd like to call Sergeant Katniss Everdeen to the stand," he declares as murmurs fill the room, "She promises to be on her  _best_  behavior."

"Very well," Crane starts. "You won't disrespect my courtroom for a second time, will you?"

"No, Your Honor," I smile before turning to August. "Have you played the footage yet?" I ask. I haven't seen it, but I know it exists.

"No…" he smiles a little, sensing my plan. "Before we bring our witness to the stand, Your Honor, we'd like to show the jury the video recording of the incident if you'll allow it."

A screen to the side is pulled down and before long, the flighty news reporter is seen on screen _. "We're here today in Fallujah, a much calmer scene then we've seen in Baghdad in the last few weeks. This area in particular hasn't seen combat in the three weeks following a firefight that took the lives of six Marines and eight civilians."_  I can see Peeta and I approaching where Rue was shot. My chest tightens.

" _Peeta! Katniss!"_  I grip my chair, knuckles going white as I watch her reach into her tunic. You never hear the gunshot, even as my arm jerks back as I'm hit or as Rue slumps into my arms.

The reporter doesn't stay on screen for long, but they zoom in. I hug myself,  _"She wants to know if you can sing to her… Sing her to sleep…"_

" _I'm no good…"_

My fingers dig into my coat.  _"Katniss!"_

The whole courtroom listens as I sing Rue to 'sleep’. I can hear sniffles that aren't just my own as I bite back my tears.  _"Follow her, follow her!"_  The reporter and the cameraman run forward. They can't hear the exchange between Marvel and I, but they do get something absolutely perfect; him removing the pin from a grenade and throwing it in the door.

" _Get down!"_  the reporter cries.

It turns out I never need to take the stand again as Marvel does the talking for us. "It wasn't my fault!" he shouts, "I was just doing what he told me to!" He points right at Cato and continues his tirade, "It was all his idea - to kill the girl, to kill Sergeant Everdeen, all of it! He even distracted her in the morning to make sure I'd have a clear shot when we swapped!" I stood up from my seat, unable to be in here any longer without diving on Cato and clawing his eyes out.

"Katniss!" Peeta calls as I leave the courtroom, quick on my heels. "Katniss, slow down!" I throw the door to the courthouse open, welcoming the sunlight.

Peeta's hand grabs my wrist, keeping me from running down the waiting DC street. Halfway across town is our hotel, where I can scream and cry as much as I want. But here, there are cameras and watchful eyes. "Katniss… come back inside,” he pleads. “We have a duty to Rue to see this through." I let the door close, cutting off my freedom.

"He…  _distracted_  her so Marvel would have a clear shot."

Peeta just nods, "And he'll pay for it." We don't mention how I was target number two.

In the end, Marvel changes his plea to guilty. They negotiated to bring the charges down from murder in the first degree to manslaughter, in exchange for his testimony against Cato. He was sentenced to eight years for Rue’s murder and two for my attempted murder, which he would serve concurrently. In four years, he would be up for parole.

In four years, he could walk.

We return to the hotel, the phone ringing almost immediately after closing the door. "That'll be Snow… to rip me a new one…" I grumble, picking up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Miss Everdeen, there is an envelope at the front desk for you and your companion. Would you like me to bring it up to you?"

"Yes, please. Thank you…"

I sit on the couch, taking off my coat and heels. The wounds from the handcuffs have scabbed over and feel tight, but nothing too major. There’s a knock at the door and I rush to answer it. In the uniformed man's hand is a large manila envelope, which I take eagerly, "Thank you, sir."

"Is there anything I can fetch for you, Madame?"

"No, thank you, though," I say. He bows slightly to me and retreats back to his desk.

"Babe, we got mail." I unwind the string but keep the flap closed.

"What is it?" he asks, already out of his blues.

I reach in. "Plane tickets for tomorrow morning… 1145, BWI… and a letter."

I look at the bottom, not caring to see who it's addressed to, "From General Coin…"

_Sergeant Everdeen,_

_Upon your arrival in Baghdad, please report to my office immediately._

_\- General Alma Coin"_  

I swallow hard, my mouth full of cotton. Peeta looks at me with sad, hopeful eyes, wrapping his arms around me.

"It's probably nothing… don't worry about it…" I laugh nervously as he says this.


	17. Hope

_June 2003_

The average temperature of Baghdad, Iraq is 104 degrees. Add on layers of Kevlar, camo and various packs, and it can feel like 115 or higher. I can feel the blazing sun through the window of the plane, hot and brutal.

"Ready for this?" Peeta asks, taking my hand. We're basically alone on this plane and since the gesture could be seen as platonic, I don't withdraw.

"So a four star General can rip me a new one?” I ask. “Sure… if I'm going home on the next plane, I promise to write once a week," I smirk, trying to make light of the situation, though I've been anxious since we left the States.

"Make it four times a week, and I want pictures," he teases. I elbow him, which only makes his stupid grin grow wider.

I can hear the landing gear drop. _Shit, I hate planes…_

* * *

"I have to go see Coin… I'll see you at dinner?" I ask Peeta hopefully.

"At least drop your bags off first. There's more than three women on this base, so you may have a roommate…" I look at my paper, trying to find my room assignment. Peeta and I have guard duty at the same time… only different assignments.

"Second shift is the worst… you get all sweaty, then it drops to like fifty and you're freezing," I say, throwing my door open. There are two beds, one already made up.

"At least the mess hall’s open twenty four hours here. In Fallujah, we would have had to wait until breakfast." I throw my bag down on the bed, giving him a dirty look, "Hey… don't give me that face…" he says, closing my door with his foot, not bothering to lock it. He's on me like lightning, pressing me into the wall between the bed and the desk.

"What face?" I ask innocently. "This is my face."

He rolls his eyes and our lips meet in the first kiss we've shared since leaving America. Finally behind closed doors, our hands hungrily search each other. I want him, so I reach for his belt. My mind feigns the feeling of him inside me, the vacancy I feel like a distant memory.

"Well, what do we have here?" Peeta springs off me and I poke my head out from behind the desk.

"What do you want, Mason?" I ask, "Gale's not here…"

"This is  _my_  room. So…" She closes the door, at least protecting our modesty, "Brainless, what do you think you're doing in my room?"

"Our room…" my voice trails off.  Great, I'll have to share this small space with Gale's girlfriend.

"Oh, sweet, I was getting lonely in here with Gale out on drops all the time…"

"Drops?"

"You know? Air drops? He goes out a few days ahead, hides in a hole with some other jarhead and protects the caravan. Not the safest job, or the most fun, but it's his," she shrugs, flopping on her bed. "We are so not having girl night, and if you need the room to fuck your boy, just lock the door. I won't tell if you won't," she winks.

"Peeta, maybe you should go get your room ready. I have to speak with Coin, remember?" He just nods and leaves.

"We are so having girls’ nights, painting toe nails, gushing about Justin Timberlake. I'm excited, are you excited?" she teases. I roll my eyes.

"I can hardly contain myself…" I tell her in a flat voice, "Now where's Coin's office?"

"Over with the other Generals. We have a five star from the Army here for the day, should be fun!" she says, jumping up to hook her arm in mine. "I'll show you, Brainless. You'll get lost or make friends with lower scum… you know, the  _Army_? I've been called  _soldier_  more times than I can count."

I shudder for her as we leave the dormitories and head to the main building where mess and the offices are located. The facility is huge; a joint military base currently occupied by the USMC, Army, and apparently a Navy Seal team.

"Here you go, and don't let her scare you. She may look like a stuck up bitch with political aspirations, but isn't afraid to step on a few backs to get there… But she's so much more…"

"See you at home, dear," I joke.

Johanna hugs me. "If I have to share that closet with anyone… I'd rather it be you."

She runs off before I can say anything else, leaving me to knock on the door. "Come in," a female voice starts.

The door creaks open, and inside is a middle aged woman marking a map. At the table sits Majors Odair and Abernathy, who smile faintly when they see me, but their attention remains on the woman. Her hair, not tied up as per regulation, seems to fall in a sheet, perfectly even with no break. Her grey eyes are on me in an instant, much like the slush that forms after coal dust or salt mixes into the pure white snow. You just wish it would go away, but instead it freezes every single night.

"Close the door…" she says sharply.

I salute, "I hope this day finds you well, General Coin." She just smirks in response.

"Here two hours and you can't even properly greet your commanding officer?" I bite my lip and take a seat only after she does.

"Forgive me…"

"Now, why would I do that? You had  _one_  job.  _One_  and that was to be a properly dressed, respectful Marine. Be a representation of everything we are. And you go off like some stupid, foolish child!" she hisses.

I just nod, not willing to argue. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't demote you all the way down to Private… discharge you, or send you in with the boys that disable IED's?"

I cross my arms over my chest before I speak, "Because I'm the best shot on this base. You demote me, I can't snipe. You send me stateside, you have to bring in some mediocre shot. You blow me up, you're going to have to explain to a lot of people why a long range shooter was disabling IED's."

Her eyes narrow, clearly not expecting me to fight back. "Major Abernathy, you were her commanding officer in Fallujah. Please, explain to me her constant need to be insubordinate?"

"She's got a fire in her, this one… A lot like you when you were her age, Alma," he says, sipping from his canteen and making a face. He's clearly not carrying water in there.

They begin talking about me as though I'm not here, so I continue staring at her hair, looking for a break, a split end… anything.

"A good Marine takes her orders and doesn't fuck them up. She knows when to speak and when to hold her damn tongue," she snaps. I begin studying her map after realizing that there's no break in her hair. It's as if she cuts it with a laser.

I see there are many X's, several of which are marked  _Hawthorne, Everdeen._ "What is this?" I ask, clearly out of turn.

"This is where you will be dropped," Coin points to one X, "In three days."

"Dropped?"

"Yes, overnight. We've had one too many of our air drops raided. A caravan is going out in four days. You and Hawthorne, who will be here any minute now…" she says after looking at her watch, "Will be flown to the location. You will, under the cover of night, drop to your assigned target and scout out the location… all undercover, of course."

I gulp, realizing this is a dangerous job. The roads out of the city are covered in IED's and Shiite forces waiting to spring into action, though it's much safer than being on the actual caravan.

"You will return on the caravan once the supplies are secure…"

"Doesn't that give away our location?"

"We never drop the same spot twice in a row, and never follow a pattern. We haven't lost a caravan since…" she smiles, proud of her little plan to drop Gale and I into a hole as the only defense to our lifeline.

"As you have been… indisposed for the last two weeks, you will be joining Lieutenant Enobaria for PT every morning at 0700." I nod, seeing Odair cringe.

"A lieutenant running PT?" I question. I figured that would be my job, at least for the females.

"She is the highest ranking female able to do this job. You could have the position if you prove yourself able…" I nod. "I'd even still consider you for Officer Candidate School…"

Abernathy finally speaks up, "Too late, General. Paylor, Finnick and myself have already recommended her based on her exemplary performance in Fallujah and during the trial."

Coin's fist hits the table. "She is a hot headed child unable to follow simple orders."

"No, she's determined, and able to think under pressure… everything an Officer should be," he insists, taking another drink.

"You are all dismissed…" she grumbles, "I want you three out of my sight…"

When the door closes, Odair is the first to speak, "What crawled up her ass and died?"

"She's always like this, ever since Desert Storm. She wasn't a four star General at that point, but she was still the biggest bitch I've ever seen…" he shrugs. "Anyway, I'm going to go see my new daughter."

"You're going home?"

"I wish. I don't have leave for another month."

I frown. This is one reason why I don't want children… I couldn't leave them stateside.

"Good luck, man. Tell Sophia her godfather loves her already," he pats Abernathy on the back.

"You sure as shit are not my daughter's godfather…" I just chuckle and leave them, not wanting to invade their private moment.

* * *

“This morning, as you all know, we will be going through the Physical Fitness test, since many of you are due and the rest could use the practice," the woman barks. I kick at the ground, the dust covering my tan boot.

"Since I have you listed by rank… we'll go highest to lowest…" I look at the insignias on everyone's arms. _Private… PFC… PFC… Private… Lance Corporal… Corporal… Sergeant…_

I quickly realize that I am the highest ranking victim of Lieutenant Enobaria's particular brand of torture. Johanna stands by her side, assisting in this morning’s test.

"Flexed arm hang first, sit-ups next. Then hydrate and wait for the rest of the group to finish and you'll do the three mile," she says. I nod, stepping from the group and dropping my button up to the ground. Sweat is already seeping from my skin, dampening my back. The bar is barely out of my reach and as always, there is no stool for me to get up on.

"You start once your elbows lock." I crouch down a little and jump up, grasping the bar and pulling myself up until my chin is above it.

Early on, this was my hardest test until I learned the secret. I close my eyes and put myself as far away from here as possible. My mind travels to the woods on the outside of the Seam, where Gale and I spent our youth hunting to feed our family. I remember the breeze through the valley, the way the trees rustled in the spring. Finally, my arms turn to jell-o and I let myself fall.

"Seventy five seconds, well done…" I nod, "Next!" I move to Johanna, whose job it is to hold my feet.

"Gale and I have a surprise for you," she says about fifteen seconds into my two minutes. "You'll love it, I think."

"Awesome…" I grunt, having already lost count. "You're counting, right?"

She just nods. "You know Gale pretty well, right?"

"Mhm…" I hold myself at the top for a second, before lowering back down and continuing.

"He's been calling home a lot. Do you think something's wrong? He keeps mentioning someone named Waterfall…"

"That's what his family calls Old Man Hawthorne…" I tell her. She taps my leg, letting me know I'm done.

"Eighty-four, and why would they call their grandfather Waterfall?"

Even I don't know the answer to that, and I'm pretty sure I shouldn’t go through the Hawthorne family history without Gale present. "Who knows? Maybe he's getting his grandmother's engagement ring… His momma gave it to Waterfall after Isaac died…" I shrug.

Johanna grabs my knees… hard, making me wince. “What?" she asks.

"Kidding, I'm kidding! I'm sure he'd never propose to you!" I roll away from her hawk-like grasp, standing up. "Geez, and I thought I was the only commitment-phobe here…"

It takes a half hour for the rest of the girls to finish their first tests. I've basically already passed, since my 100 from my flexed arm hang and 84 from crunches means I have about a half hour to run three miles and place in the first bracket. I could walk it all and still pass, as long as it's under 31 minutes, the cut off for my age group.

After the first mile of our run, I begin wishing I didn't push myself so hard. The hot Baghdad sun soaks me through, my pants chafing at my inner thighs. My boots, still new since my old pair was destroyed by blood, are pinching my toes and blistering my heels.

But I finish first, in twenty two minutes flat.

"Everdeen, you're dismissed!"  I nod, soaked in my own sweat, ready to go and shower.

* * *

"Come on, come on!" I’m not even allowed to put shoes on before Johanna pulls me from our room. I’m dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, my hair still damp.

"Jo, you're going to rip my arm out!" I hiss as she pulls me towards the men's dormitories. Just outside of Gale and Peeta’s door, she stops and covers my eyes.

"Don't peek!" she orders. I hear the door open and she pushes me through, nearly knocking me to the ground.

"Jesus, Jo…"

"Hey, when I have a surprise, I do it right!"

"Can I look now?"

"Oh, yeah…" she laughs, dropping her hands form my eyes. Sitting in Peeta's lap is a very confused looking kitten with orange ears and an orange tail.

"Is that…"

Peeta smiles and nods, "Yeah!" I sit on his bed and take Amal in my arms.

"While you were in the hospital, we saw him pawing around the building you were pinned under when Peeta and I went back to Fallujah…” Gale explains. “Then after you two left, he walked from the town to the base so I snuck him in here. He's a good boy; goes to the bathroom outside, comes and goes as he pleases…"

I cradle the cat as he swats at my dog tags, "Aw… honey, can we keep him?" I ask Peeta.

Johanna caught us making out, so I'm sure Gale already knows. With the door closed, we can be open about our relationship here.

He put his arm around my waist. "It costs a lot to get an animal back to the States…"

I frown as Amal smacks my cheek by accident. "But… you have a dog, and Prim has that little shit of a cat. I can't be the only kid without a pet!" I whine, almost unable to stop myself from grinning.

Peeta just sighs, "Fine…" The cat springs from my arms, hopping to the windowsill and meowing loudly. "He only comes back at night. We had to corral him in here." I nod as Gale pushes the window open. Why they open is beyond me, but the cat springs out to hunt, disappearing towards the hot sun.

I can't stop my grin. Maybe there’s still some good left in this hellish desert.


	18. Prisoner

**Chapter 18 – Prisoner**

_June 2003_

"To whom do I owe this honor?" a massive hand pushes my goggles down from my helmet, the loose strap making them fall from my face. "Guard duty with the ‘girl on fire’?" he asks.

I fix my goggles and tighten the strap, just to be sure they can't fall again. "I think it's my honor that we're on patrol in the hot summer sun. You carrying me?"

Thresh, without asking, puts his hands under my armpits and lifts me like I weigh nothing. "Nah, you're too fat."

My jaw drops but he just grins, "Kidding, Sarge! Geez…"

We have a fixed guard post; me on a sniper rifle, him on look out. "So where are you from?" I ask, feeling the uneasy quiet.

"Atlanta… You?"

"You should know this…" I scoff.

"Listen, I don't remember the name of your crazy white mountain town…" he teases as I tilt the gun up to look at the sky, bright and blazing. The dry season would soon give way to the wet season, which means maybe one or two rainy days during my time here.

"Wilkes-Barre… Well, kind of south of it. And that's one of the easiest to say. I mean, besides Scranton and Centralia." I look at the layer of dust on the ground and begin writing, A-Q-U-A-S-H-I-C-O-L-A. "Say this town name,” I say, pointing down.

He approaches the word phonetically, saying the ‘shi’ like shish kabob, "Not even close! It's schick, like the razor. Aqua-schick-la."

"Crazy white people…" he grumbles.

"Please… may I remind you of Mauritania, Mozambique, and Botswana?”

"What about Morocco?"

I look up from the gun to study him, "Please…" I go back to studying the clouds, seeing as my comment hasn't offended the man, "I loved Casablanca."

He just chuckles. We keep this shift through the hottest part of the desert summer. Thresh quickly becomes a breath of fresh air from the hasty kisses and romantic trysts between Peeta and I, the mocking glances of the Majors who are becoming suspicious of our friendship, Johanna’s sarcasm and paranoia about Gale wanting to marry her, and Gale's protectiveness.

The summer passes and I'm never given the option to test for Gunny. Guess Coin likes me where I am.

* * *

_September 2003_

"Are you sure he won't walk in?" I'm not sure I care to be honest, as I'm already untucking Peeta’s shirt.

"I told Gale to go spend the last few hours with Jo in your room, so we could have this one," he says, biting down on my lip, earning a quiet moan. The bed is creaky, so we agree that the more boring positions like missionary and cowgirl are out of the question. We break the kiss only to pull off our shirts and my sports bra.

"Shit…" I groan, rubbing my hands over his abs. We are both basically getting our asses kicked in PT every morning, and it shows. Oh, does it show. I'm developing a six pack, and his is, well, still gorgeous.

"What?" He looks worried as I go for his belt and button fly while he slides down my sweat shorts.

"You just…" I trail off. Our pants fall to the floor and my lips crash into his, "Shut up and fuck me…"

"Demanding…" he teases, hooking his thumbs in my underwear. He slides them down my toned thighs as I push down his boxers, almost immediately sinking down to take him in my mouth.

"Mmm," I groan onto him as I taste a drip of precum ooze into my mouth.

"Babe…" he taps my shoulders, "Get up…" I roll my eyes and give the head one last lick before getting to my feet. "How are we going to do this?" he asks, rubbing his chin. I close his computer and move books to his bed before sitting on the desk.

"Problem solved," I purr, one leg dangling, the other on his chair, spreading my legs so he can see how wet I am. Just to tease him, I sneak two fingers inside me.

"Why are you trying to rush things?" he asks, pulling my hand from me and licking my fingers. I shudder as his tongue snakes between my middle and ring finger.

"Peeta, darling, I have to leave in two hours. One hour of that needs to be spent getting my stuff together, so I want to get in as much cuddle time in as possible," I tell him.

He cocks an eyebrow, " _Cuddle_  time?"

"Yes, I want my man to hold me before I'm stuck in a hole, stranded for a day or so until they lift us out after the air drop…"

He gives me a knowing look before pulling me to his chest. "You're afraid…" he whispers.

"Maybe… but please, we haven't  _done_  anything in three weeks…" I look up at him and pout,  _"_ Please?" I feel his hard erection poking at my thigh. _Maybe if I tilt my hips just a little…_

But as soon as I doubt that I won't get what I desire most, Peeta grips my hips and eases into me. He takes my face into his hands, biting down on my lip in a clumsy kiss while I sneak my hand down to toy with myself. Each of my moans are muffled by his lips, his tongue only daring to enter my mouth once or twice. My nails, though bitten short, scratch at his back, surely leaving marks. I suspect neither of us will last long; the time apart, though short, has left us hungry for each other's flesh. We moan into each other's mouths as I come first. As a result of my muscles contracting on him, he spills his seed deep within me. We barely have a chance to catch our breaths before he picks me up and lowers me on the bed.

"There…" he whispers, crawling over me to spoon me, "Now, why are you afraid?"

"I'm not afraid… I'm…" I bite my lip and roll over so we're facing each other, his leg tossed over my hips. "Nervous. People's lives are in my hands…"

"Katniss…" he sighs, kissing my forehead.

"I… I've never felt like this before…"

"Nervous?"

"No, about… about you…" I bite my lip and furrow my brow.  How  _do_ I feel about Peeta?

That I don't know… Is it love? It's strong… but is it love?

"In DC, you vowed that if… if it came down to it, you would lay your life down… for mine…"

"And I mean every word of it, Katniss, I-" I stop him, pressing my fingers to his lips.

"Peeta, I'm not done… I just…" I squeeze my eyes shut, organizing my thoughts, "If we're in a spot where I can save you, at the cost of my own life… I'll do it. I'll take a bullet for you…"

He kisses my forehead and then says the three words, the ones most painful for me to hear. The three most confusing, most painful, most vile words… but they’re so beautiful coming from his lips, although my ears are unworthy.

"I love you…" he whispers. I don't have time to respond, though. I'm not sure I can because there's a knock at the door. I dive from the bed and pull on my underwear, tossing Peeta his clothes as I sloppily dress and unlock the door.

As I tuck my shirt and button my pants, Gale opens the door. "Forgot my coat…" he smirks, seeing my blush, "We've gotta head out, Kat…"

I nod and turn back to Peeta, who looks so confused. "I'll see you in a few days… Please, be safe," is all he says, not daring to kiss me goodbye, even with the door closed.

"You too…" I smile faintly, nearly running out before I can do something stupid like cry.

* * *

Silently, Gale and I ready ourselves. We're encumbered by extra water which we still have to ration, though it will be easier now that the max temperature barely pushes 110 in the bunkers we'll hide in.

"Ready?" he asks, holding his hand out for my dog tag which he hangs for roll. There are empty hooks, every one soon to be occupied by the caravan.

I nod. We’ve done this once a week, sometimes twice a week since July. I have barely seen combat since then; the only other time was a two week period when I was sent into Baghdad. Peeta had spent every single day in the city after the first week back, and when I was sent to the city, I was kept far from him, much to my dismay.

As was the usual when anything romantic was suspected.

The first three times they dropped us, I was strapped to Gale so he could chute us down, afraid I would splatter myself on the beautiful desert 'countryside'.  According to Gale, I'm now a pro.

"So what was with all the weird vibes back there?" he starts.

"Vibes?" I ask, setting up my gun. We'll scout for the first six hours, radioing back that there's no threat. Even if we think otherwise, Coin will press on anyway, as she had proven six drops ago when we lost the head of our caravan despite our warnings that conditions were dangerous.

The biggest threat to servicemen in the Middle East isn't a bullet, but the misplaced box or oddly dug up spot concealing lethal explosives.

"Answer the question, Kat…"

I snap my magazine in, "Peeta… told me he loved me…"

"To which you said…"

"Nothing…"

"Kat, you can tell me. I've known you for how long?" He grabs my shoulders, rubbing them.

"No, Gale, I couldn't say  _anything_  because you knocked on the door and I hopped out of bed like it was on fire…"

"Well, what were you talking about before then?"

I bite my lip, staring at the stars through the small hole my barrel will poke through. Easily overlooked, we’re about a half mile from the drop site, very easy to overlook. "Just… drop the topic, or else I'll bring up you calling Waterfall near Johanna the next time I see her."

He rolls his eyes in response. "I'll get first watch. Go get some sleep, Katniss…"

I use my pack as a pillow but I don't sleep. I can't get the image of Peeta's hurt and confused face out of my mind. _We have such a good thing going! Why does he have to ruin it with something like love?_

"I know you're not asleep…" Gale starts quietly, "And I know why you're scared. Your Momma was destroyed after your father died. Now you think that any romantic relationship will lead to pain like that…" I don't open my eyes, maybe if I feign sleep he'll stop talking. "But without opening her heart to begin with… she wouldn't have gotten all those happy years, or you and Prim…"

I roll from him. Gale’s words ring true, but I don't want to hear them. "You love him, Katniss. I can see it in how you look at him. When we come back, you rush to see if he's back from the city… You check for his tag the second you're back at that base and when it's still there, you pace until he gets back. If it's not there, you rush to his room just to be sure he's still there…"

I move my hands and childishly cover my ears, I can't hear this… I lay like that, trying not to focus on Peeta. I have a job to do, but he is always in my thoughts.

"Go to sleep, Gale, it's my turn to watch…" I say. The sun will be up soon, and that's when the real work begins, since it’s easier to scout during the day. I try to focus, but remain a prisoner to my own thoughts.

 _I love him…_  I finally conclude… it makes sense. If I didn't love Peeta, why would this be affecting me so deeply? The thought is so liberating, so freeing.

_Does he hate me for not saying it earlier? Will he understand?_

"All clear…" I radio around 1030. I just want to get back, see Peeta again, and fix everything.

Gale and I watch, ready to pounce as four pallets are dropped to the ground, chutes slowing their fall. Within minutes, we hear the humvee's only four traversing the makeshift road. The packing only takes about a half hour and now comes the tricky part. The part that reveals our location…

We pack up quickly; it will only take about ten minutes for the chopper to get here before lowering its ladder for us to return to base.

This is my least favorite part. I always make Gale go first so he can haul me into the bird.

"You're in better spirits," Gale shouts over the deafening noise of the propeller.

"Of course I am, Hawthorne, I'm in love!" I shout, and he just smirks back.

When we touch down, I rush to the board and pull my tag, placing it back around my neck.

There are only a few left, too few to be any group still in the city.

I gulp; either we suffered casualties today, or POW's were taken.

_Mason, Johanna… Cresta, Annie… Enobaria, Charlotte…_

There's one more that I pull from the board.

_Mellark, Peeta…_

I stare in disbelief for who knows how long, the reality and gravity of the situation not hitting me. "It's about time you showed up…" Major Abernathy pulls the tags from the board. "They were attacked out in the city…"

"Are they… dead?" I ask. My thoughts go to Gale… the woman he wants to propose to, and hopefully marry, gone.  Major Odair… his sweet Annie, the quiet but still so strong girl… and my lieutenant, though a hard woman, I respect her.

And my Peeta… the man I  _love_. Gone.

"No… prisoner… some Shiite militia…" he places the tags in my hand, "You have calls to make, Katniss…"

My stomach tightens. He means calls home… to tell the families that their sons and daughters are prisoners of war.

"Hawthorne outranks me… he-"

"You can't expect him to call home when his girlfriend is missing! Odair is a wreck…" he scratches his chin, five o'clock shadow already showing.

"We'll get them back… Major Abernathy…” I ask quietly. “We'll get them back… right?"

"We'll try, Sweetheart…"

The tags clank around my finger as I make my way to a quiet office, the directions clearly printed for me.

I call for Enobaria first, and a young girl picks up. Her next of kin is a Jacob Enobaria… her husband.

"Is your father there?" I ask. It's very early morning there.

" _My daddy says don't talk to strangers,"_  she says. I would smile at this… if I weren't held together by my Kevlar vest.

"Please, it's very important…" I plead, but she's already passed off the phone.

" _Hello?"_

"Jacob Enobaria?"

" _This is he…"_

"Mister Enobaria, my name is Sergeant Everdeen. I'm with the United States Marine Corps…"

" _Oh God…"_ I grab at my stomach, remembering my mother in this very same position.

"The platoon she was out with today was attacked. Your wife is missing and assumed to be a prisoner of war…"

I hear a single sob,  _"Oh… Oh God… Charlotte…"_  I sit there for longer than I should, listening to him sob.

" _Daddy, why are you sad?"_ the little girl asks.

"Thank you, and we will do everything in our power to return your wife to you," I say and hang up the phone.

One down, three to go.

Annie and Johanna list their mothers as their next of kin; their reactions are similar to Enobaria's husband. I sit and listen to them sob until I'm alone in the quiet room with one tag staring back at me.

I run my fingers over his name.  _Mellark, Peeta,_ followed by his social security number and his blood type, O positive.

Last is his religious preference, which we've never discussed, but reads  _Methodist._

My father's read the same, a popular branch out in the mountains…

I finally decide I can't put it off anymore and dial the number. It's so familiar, but still so foreign.

" _Hello? Peeta, is that you?"_  a woman answers. Her voice is hoarser than I remember, most likely from years of yelling at her three boys _._

"Misses Mellark?"

" _No…"_

"My… My name is Staff Sergeant Katniss Everdeen. I am stationed with your son in Baghdad. He…" I bite my lip, tears welling in my eyes, "His party was attacked today in the city. He is missing and is assumed to be a prisoner of war…"

She sobs, and soon I join her, as we cry for her missing son and my missing love, together, for a good half hour until she composes herself.

" _What are you doing to get my boy back?"_   she asks, the familiar bite returning to her voice.

"We will do everything in our power to return your son, ma'am. Thank you, and I hope when we speak next, I'm informing you of your son's safe return. God Bless."

I lean forward in the chair and begin pulling the pins from my hair, letting it fall so I can run my hands through it nervously. The door swings open. "Done?" Abernathy asks.

"Y-yeah…"

"The first time is the hardest… I had to call home for your old man." I nod and stand, trying to push past the Major while avoiding his gaze like the plague. "Come on, Coin's called a meeting…" he says, grabbing my wrist and pulling me down the hall like a rag doll.


	19. The Building Thunder

**Chapter 19 – The Building Thunder**

_September 2003_

I don't let go of Peeta's dog tag, it's the last piece I have of him. No, I can't think like that. He needs me to be strong, he needs me to fight.

"We will follow standard procedure and wait for proof of life before acting," Coin says, and I narrow my eyes. "Is there something you would like to say,  _Sergeant_  Everdeen?"

"We should have a plan, a course of action so we can act swiftly. They couldn't have gotten them far. One of them has to have something on them that can be tracked! A GPS, a radio, something!"

"We will do the best we can to figure out their location. Until then, you're all dismissed…"

We don't go far. The second the door closes, Odair holds out his hand. "Annie's tag… _now!_ " he demands. I jump and dig through my pocket, handing him Cresta's before giving Johanna's to Gale and running from the group.

"Katniss!" Gale’s footsteps trail me, but I squeeze my eyes shut, navigating to the one place where I feel the safest.

"Leave me alone!" I hiss, throwing Peeta's door open and falling on his bed. It's made perfectly. The door slams just as I begin hugging his pillow, "I said-"

"It's my room, too, I should be kicking you out…" The window opens and within seconds, Amal the cat curls up next to me.

"Please… please don't kick me out…" My thumb brushes the words on Peeta's tag, feeling his imprinted name on my finger as my tears soak the white sheets.

"With you as pathetic as you are?" his bed creaks, "Please…"

I roll over, startling the cat. He settles for laying at my head. "I'm not pathetic!" I hiss.

"Nah…" I notice the tears down his cheeks. "Just me…" I pull the pillow and blanket from Peeta's bed and climb over Gale.

"Just like before Basic?" he asks, rolling over and wrapping his arms around me, adjusting the blanket so we're covered.

"Just like before Basic…" I confirm before the sobs overtake both of us. At some point, Amal joins us on the bed, curling up at our heads to protect us from any further pain.

We sleep through dinner. At some point late, I wake up from a dream filled with the sobs of the families I just had to call, most of all Misses Mellark.

I get out of bed without disturbing Gale or the cat, not bothering to put on my shoes or make myself presentable. Emotion is something rather new to me. Well, more like strong emotions. Previously, I believed myself only able to rely on action, pure action.

I'm not exactly sure how to handle being driven by heartbreak and the pain of a missing love, but it brings me outside Major Abernathy's room.

I knock loudly, hearing a stir after a few seconds. He hasn't bothered to shave and greets me in a wife-beater and boxers. "Well, well, sweetheart… I was wondering when you'd show up…"

Emotions suck.

My fist makes contact with his jaw, causing him to stumble backwards as I close the door behind us. "You're a fucking bastard, you know that?" I take fistfuls of his shirt, "You knew! You made fun of us all the time about 'making eyes' and sneaking off to fuck, and then you make me call his Momma!" He rips my hands from his shirt and smacks me _hard_.

"Sit down, Everdeen."

I ball my fists. "I'd rather stand," I say, wiping some blood from my lip.

"Be my guest!" he snaps, his piercing eyes on me. "I've covered for your fucking ass since your smart mouth got back!" He picks up a very illegal bottle of rum and takes a long swig, "And this is how you repay me?" He paws at his jaw, a bruise already forming.

"You made me call his mother and tell her that her son was missing. Someone I care about, someone I-" I bite my finger, unable to continue.

"Ask me what you want to ask, Everdeen, or I'll do everything I can to get your ass kicked out for assaulting your commanding officer."

We stare each other down for a good minute until my tunnel vision disappears, "Why?"

"Gale and Finnick can't go save them,  _if_  we even get that opportunity. Your separate assignments made it easier to keep your relationship, or sexual habits, a secret." My nails dig into my palm, threatening to break the skin as he finishes, "I need someone I can trust on that mission."

" _If_  there is a mission," I snap.

"Listen, sweetheart. You're in Coin's crosshairs as it is… but maybe she already has a…  _hint_  about where they're being held."

"What? I… she WHAT?" I shout.

"Sweetheart!" he hisses, grabbing my wrist just as I'm about to haul ass over to Coin's office… or wherever she stays. "Listen, running in hot-headed isn't going to save your boy. It isn't going to help anyone," he says as his grip loosens. "What you need to do is become the best damn Marine you can. You'll be leading PT now that Enobaria is… well, you'll be leading it. Coin's eyes are going to be on you at all times. Impress her." I nod, wiping the tears from my eyes. "I'll be putting the pressure on her to send a party out on the coordinates she got off… well… that she got."

I nod again, mouthing a 'thank you'.

"Sit down, let me tell you a story."

"Major Abernathy, I'm twenty two, I'm not into-"

"That's an order!" he barks. I roll my eyes and sit on his unmade bed. "Your father is the reason I'm here today," he explains. I find his eyes, searching for some shadow of a lie. "He was my lieutenant…" he sighs, taking another sip and offering me some, though I decline. "And one day… we were just overrun. I took a shot to the leg. Your old man pulled me to safety before going for another when…" he pauses to take another swig, "The explosions started going off. When the dust settled, your old man and Hawthorne's were nowhere to be found…"

"I… I didn't know…"

"He always bragged about his girls, and the second I saw your name on our roster, I knew you'd do big things. Rushing in the heat of  _passion_ ,” he teases, "is going to get you sent home when people need you the most." I hug myself.

"If I didn't call, they would get suspicious… and I'd be unable to go…"

"Exactly, and with the technology we have now, I'll be surprised if you're not out on the rescue within a week…"

I nod, but his week turns into a month with no signs of life.

* * *

_November 2003_

Over the last four weeks, I've become the ideal Marine. My hair is always back in a tight bun, my bed always made, but that's only because I usually sleep in Peeta's. I lead drills and PT like a pro.

"What is this?" I bellow, standing at the door of a private's room. Her bed is unmade, the room a mess.

"I- I was getting to it…" she goes back to her computer, which I shut.

"While on base, you are on duty twenty four seven, private, at which time you are expected to keep both yourself and your living space…" I bend over and pick up one of many pairs of underwear off the ground, "Neat and orderly. Would you like to see  _my_  room as an example?"

"Easy for you, you're always sleeping with Sergeant Hawthorne," she mumbles. I narrow my eyes at her and she flinches.

"Would you care to see  _his_  room?" I place my arms behind my back.

"No, Ma'am."

"Good. I'll see you at PT in one hour, plenty of time to get this place perfect," I exit her room and nearly crash into Thresh.

"Geez, Sarge, keeping the riff raff in line?" he asks, throwing his arm around my shoulder.

"Just some messy privates. You know how they are…"

His eyes light up and he chuckles. "Thresh, seriously? That wasn't meant to be perverted…"

"Sorry… you going to eat?"

I shake my head no. "Already ate, going to spend some time at the range before I have to run my ladies…"

"Damn, girl! Take a morning off, you've been like G. I. Jane since-" The look on my face causes him to shut up quickly.

No one places bets on me at the range anymore, they know I never miss.

Gale claims that I've become a robot, going through the routine of my day without diversion, running PT emotionless, and silently working my patrol. He doesn't see Coin's cold eyes always burning holes in my back.

When she isn't watching me, someone else is. I know she’s looking for some excuse to send me packing.

I remove my ear protection and hear something unfamiliar in this part of the world - a roll of thunder that shakes me to my core. It's a slow, distant rumble, the first sign that something is building. It isn't hard to find the dark storm clouds heading for the base.

I hear a pitter-patter on the ground and hold out my hand to catch a drop before laughing. It’s actually storming in the desert.

My ladies are still in the dormitories organizing for PT when I enter, my boots now muddy from the downpour.  "Ladies!" I shout, "Due to hazardous conditions and inclement weather, there will be no PT today. Please take this time to make sure your belongings and rooms are in order… there will be room checks at 1200."

I head back to my seldom used room to change out of my soaked clothes and fix my hair when there's a knock at my door. "It's unlocked," I say, pulling my shirt over my head as it opens. "Good morning, Major Odair. What brings you here?"

"Follow me, kid."

* * *

"Eat," Finnick pleads.

"Fuck off…" I push my food away, the third meal in a row that I've skipped.

"Katniss, please eat something. You're being tested for Gunny in two hours!"

"Finnick Odair, if you don't fuck off right now, I will stab you," I hiss.

The redhead crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes going between my food and slouched posture, my arms crossed on the table and my head almost resting on them. "Listen, I'm trusting you with the life of the one person I love in this damn world. Either you eat on your own or I force it in your mouth," he threatens, pushing the tray to me.

I take my fork and stab at a carrot as if it's about to attack me and shove it in my mouth. "There, was that so hard?" he says, reaching over to pinch my cheek.

"Who even knows if they're still alive?" I grumble, my mouth full of stew.

"Coin does. A video was sent here like… a week ago?"

"A…  _week!_ " I think of all the meetings I've been in with her throughout the last seven days and stand up from my chair.

"Everdeen… sit back down. I'm sure she-" I don't listen, I can't listen. She's had proof of life for a  _week_.

Seven days.

One hundred and sixty eight hours.

I'm too pissed to decipher the minutes when I throw her door open, greeted by her and Major Abernathy watching a video of Mason, Enobaria, Cresta and Peeta at gunpoint.

She turns it off calmly. "You… you've known… for a week?" I exclaim.

"It wasn't prudent to engage or organize a rescue mission at that time." She taps a stack of papers, lining them up just like her blonde hair. "We have no confirmation of location, whether or not the first video is old…"

"First?" I step in the room, not closing the door. "There's more?"

"Two more, only this one was time stamped two days ago. They've been sending tapes to a journalist to show to the world. Instead, they're sent straight to me," she says smugly.

"When are we leaving to get them?"

"Sergeant Everdeen, what part of no confirmed location do you not grasp?" She sits down.

"General Coin, wars are not won by sitting behind desks and making safe moves. They're won by creativity and gall. If you sit idly by while four of our own are held captive, then at least here, this war is already lost."

She smiles. "Major Abernathy, cancel Sergeant Everdeen's examination for later today," the lights flicker and thunder rolls. "Indefinitely."

I swallow, but refuse to budge. "And please leave us, I need to have a word with Sergeant Everdeen… Or should it be Corporal? Private maybe? Or should I dishonorably discharge you, send you home?" The door closes and we're alone. I've shaken this woman up, and she would love nothing more than to shame me for it. "All this anger, all this pressure everyone has been putting on you… out of love…"

I ball my fist. "General, it has nothing to do with love. I have a debt to pay, a promise to keep, and I'll be damned if some coward behind a desk will stop me from keeping my word. We have proof of life. You know where they are, I know you do, or at least you have an idea. I'd rather go to a location and come back empty handed than let them have my friends for one more day!"  Coin folds her hands and rests her chin on her laced fingers as I continue, "It's raining, which is a perfect cover, especially if this lasts until nightfall."

"We don't know how many we're up against," she points out.

"They're a poorly trained civilian militia, we're Marines. You do the math."

She sighs, "Tell Major Abernathy you head out to the location at 1900. Report back here in two hours for a debriefing before the mission." She stands up and rounds her desk, getting close as if to threaten me, "You have given me a hundred good reasons to demote you or dishonorably discharge you. If your little plan fails, I'll be out a Major and many good men… but one big pain in my ass."

I salute her, though not sarcastically. "And when I'm successful, you'll have back a Lieutenant, two Sergeants, and the best damned Corporal I've ever seen."

"Get out of my sight," she says through clenched teeth. "If you are successful, maybe I'll give you Gunnery anyway. But if you fail and survive, you will be off my base and out of the Marine Corps before you can blink."

"Thank you, General." We salute and I leave. I have to find Haymitch.


	20. Liberation

**Chapter 20 – Liberation**

_This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine._

_My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life._

_My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will..._

_My rifle and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, or the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit..._

_My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will..._

_Before God, I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life._

_So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy, but peace!_

-The Rifleman's Creed

* * *

“We have good reason to believe four of our own are being held here," Abernathy points to a circled building, "About an hour outside of Mahmudiyah…" The key to our success is the rain, especially since we aren't rocked by thunder. Surprise is our greatest weapon. A party of fifteen of us, led by Major Abernathy, will be lifted two miles south of the location where we'll drop. Then, under the cover of night, we'll head to the location.

"Now, we don't know what we're up against. We can only assume we'll be out numbered, and that there are civilians in there. We launch at 1900."

I know the first place I have to go. "Gale!" I shout, catching him along his patrol. "Gale, we're leaving tonight. We're going to do it, we're going to get them back!"

His face is a mix of concern and hope as he pulls me to his chest, "We're not in the clear yet…"

"Not even close… If we fail, I'm being discharged…"

He grabs my shoulders and pushes me back to look in my eyes, "What?"

"Don't worry about it, Gale, when have I ever failed?" I try to smile, I really do, but this mission is such a gamble. Any number of things could go wrong, only one of them being the loss of my life.

"All the times you've tried to run from Waterfall's hunting dog," he chuckles. The rain beats down on our heads, but we ignore it. For the first time in a month, we're both smiling.

"I'll get past that dog someday. If I can get past Cray's bloodhound, I can get past Ol' Red."

He puts his hand in my hair and ruffles it, destroying my bun and popping pins out. "Fix your hair, you don't want to look like some stranger for your beau!" He laces his fingers, places his hands under his chin and bats his eyelashes to taunt me.

I smirk, our path taking us to the female dormitories, "I think I'll even do my make-up."

He cocks an eyebrow, as I’m not one to fix my face.

I left my hair loose to dry as Odair, Thresh and the foxlike redhead I've only seen once or twice around the base nervously pick at dinner. "Sergeant Everdeen, this is Lance Corporal Scotts," I shake the redhead's hand, "She and Thresh will be going with you and Abernathy tonight."

Her eyes dart between the two men and I during our meal. "Everyone's staring…" I rip apart my bread.

"The Seals thought they were going, then… I think we have some Green Beret's…"

I drink my soup. "We'll rescue our own, and even some of theirs someday," I grin.

"I've never jumped out of a plane before," Scotts says suddenly.

"It's easy. You just kind of step off and when you're told, you pull your cord…"

"Why can't we just take a chopper? Land a mile out, hike to the location…" she asks.

"Too noisy," I tell her with a full mouth, "The plane will be quiet. There are planes flying overhead all the damn time so they won't suspect anything. By the time the choppers get here, we'll already be inside."

"That… that's brilliant."

I nod a little. "Thanks, it was Major Abernathy's idea…"

"Now come on, Sweetheart, you're not going to take credit for  _your_  brainchild?"

I jump a little and look up, my clean shaven Major towers over me, "Won't do me much good. Chances are I'm not going for any promotions. You, on the other hand…" I go back to my food, "You could go places…"

"Yes, home," he says, slapping down a paper. "Just got this, my tour is done a week from today." He grabs my shoulders and gives them a squeeze, "So don't fuck it up, sweetheart."

* * *

"Missing something?" I dig through my desk, my bags, everything.

"My compact…" I grumble.

"You… you weren't kidding about your make-up, were you, Katniss?"

"Gale Hawthorne, you've known me for how long?" I finally feel it, about the size of my palm with desert camo on the outside, camouflage paint. "When have I ever cared about something like  _make-up?_ "

"Good point…" I was told to report at 1800, five minutes from now. "Guess this is it?" he asks.

I nod, my stomach doing flips. "Mhm… We'll do it, Gale…" I hug his torso. "We'll do it or I'll die trying."

"You can't die, I won't allow it…" I smile sadly, as this is something out of Gale's control. "What's this?" he asks, picking up the bird pin I was given in Fallujah.

"A woman in Fallujah gave it to me. She said that I watched over the city from my hawk post…" I smile, remembering the little bit of good I've seen in this hellish desert.

He pins it under my collar, "For luck…" he whispers, his lips finding my forehead. "I'm going to marry that woman, Katniss, mark my words…"

* * *

"Is it true that you can't put on mascara without opening your mouth?" I smudge more light brown on my face and roll my eyes.

"I wouldn't know," I say, looking at Abernathy’s paint. "You've used too much green. We're in the desert, not the forest…" I pat his back, "Take mine." Stealth and surprise are our greatest weapon tonight.

We have to blend in with the night and the desert. It was a hot debate between Abernathy and I as to whether or not we should swap camo with a black uniform. The only reason we stand here in full desert camo is because our vests are a light tan. "Ready?" he asks, toying with a chevron pin in his hand.

"See this?" There are three chevrons pointing up, two rockers, with rifles crossing each other in the center.

"It's a gunny's pin…" I reply.

"It'll be  _your_  gunny pin. I don't care what Coin says. You've run drill for the last month, whipped a bunch of whiny, bitchy excuses for Marines into ideal servicewomen. You're crafty, creative, and damn talented with a rifle."

I swing my rifle from behind my back so it's in my hands. "This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my rifle is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless."

He smiles and nods. "Damn useless, Everdeen. I see you're breaking regulation again?" he says, reaching back to flick the tip of my braid.

"Shit… I forgot to put it back up…" I scramble, ready to pull the tie and wrap a bun but he stops me.

"We've gotta head out, just tuck it and let’s go…"

We hang our tags on the board, though I add four more. Our POW's are coming home tonight and they can finally claim their tags when they get here.

I take my three middle fingers and kiss them, pressing them to Peeta's, "You've saved my life twice, Mellark…" I whisper.

* * *

"Ladies first," I hear Abernathy tell me through my earpiece as the back of the plane opens. My chute is strapped on tightly.

We'll have to space out jumpers so no one gets tangled, and I run for the ramp.

If someone told me when I was growing up that I would be jumping out of a plane to save four POW's, I would have laughed at them. Now it doesn't seem so crazy. I kick off the back ramp, forcing myself to spin around and salute my party before I drop out of sight. A few seconds later, another body follows and after that, another.

The rain has stopped and as I pass through the cloud, I feel the moisture prickle at my skin. I've never jumped from this far. It's amazing…

I pull my cord and within a minute or so I'm on the ground, my feet sticking a little in the wet, muddy sand. I count the thuds of boots hitting the ground.

_One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six… Seven… Eight… Nine… Ten… Eleven… Twelve… Thirteen… Fourteen… Fifteen…_

All here.

Now for the fun part - a two mile hike, hoping the rain holds out.

"We can't risk using the radios because they have at least three of ours," Haymitch says as he pulls a map out of his vest and puts a small flashlight in his mouth.

"We're two miles south of the target. No one is to speak once we set out. It’s all non-verbal, you grunts remember that?"

There's a murmur in the group, a small chuckle. "We don't know the floor plan, but we do know the main means of ingress are here…" he points to the diagram of the house. “We'll need two guarding this door, and two around back… Danielson and Smith, you got back; Thresh and Scotts, you got front. The rest of us will perform a sweep of the house, hopefully extracting the targets. We’ve been instructed not to take prisoners. These aren't civilians in there, they are the enemy. They’ve captured our brothers and sisters and held them against their will with guns to their heads and knives to their throats. Be smart about whom you aim at; we're not sure if there are women and children in there…"

"Sir, yes, sir!" we respond.

"Take a knee, all of you. Even you, Everdeen." The wet ground doesn't soak through my knee pads. "Father, your own son was a prisoner, condemned. He died for us, victorious, and He returned to bring us the gift of life everlasting." It’s the POW's prayer; we had a frame with this that hung next to the cross in my mother's den until the day Daddy was returned to us. "Comfort us now in our longing for the return of the Prisoners of War, and those Missing In Action," everyone joins in, "Help us, Father; inspire us to remove the obstacles. Give courage to those who know the truth to speak out, grant wisdom to the negotiators, and compassion to the jailors. Inspire the media to speak out as loudly as they have in the past, protect those who seek in secret and help them to succeed. Show us the tools to do your will. Guard and bless those in captivity, their families, and those who work for their release. Let them come home soon." With our heads bowed in the middle of the desert, ready to charge into the unknown, we whisper the final four words, "Thank you, Father. Amen."

I take a sip from my canteen. People have many rituals before going on a dangerous mission. Some make crosses on their chest, some pray to their God. I lift my head towards the sky, looking for the stars hidden behind a thick veil of clouds that make this night impossibly dark and hopefully make it impossible for us to be spotted. A drop hits my eye.

"Let's move out…"

The night is cool, making the trek easier than if done at midday. The rain never gets heavier than a steady drizzle. Major Abernathy and I walk at the front of the pack when the building, barely noticeable by the outside lighting and the glow from the inside lights, comes into view. He stops and passes me his binoculars. It's difficult to see, but there are indeed two guards at the outside wall.

"Can you make that shot?" he whispers. We're still protected by the darkness, even more so since their eyes haven't had a chance to adjust to see the pack of armed Marines ready to charge.

I reach into my pockets and pull out a silencer. "Only one way to find out…" I mutter, screwing it on and turning off the safety. I have to take out two of them with no scope from a football field away.

I get down on one knee, taking aim. I can't aim for my usual target, the head, so I go for their hearts. This needs to be quick.

 _One shot, one kill_.

The only noise is my breathing as I adjust my aim once or twice.  _Daddy… Please guide my bullet…_

I pull the trigger and in a few seconds, the first one drops. I have to re-aim quickly. It takes a fraction of a second for the other to realize what's happening. As a shout builds in his throat, my bullet silences him. "Move out…" There are no yells or doors opening, which means they were the only two guards.

_Amateurs…_

Two men check first to make sure there aren't waiting gunmen behind the wall. They give us the all clear and head in, going to the back to ensure no one escapes. We're swift, running with the shadows, following the darkness of the wall and crouching under the window before reaching the front door.

We don't bother entering nicely. Thresh and the Major kick the door in, the thin old thing splintering off the hinges.

The first thing you learn in room sweeps is to check up. It isn't only cops who don't look up, but foolish servicemen who earn bullets in the head. The first room, lit by a single incandescent bulb, is occupied by women and children. "Thompson, Salvatore, make sure they stay out of the gunfire, and don't run." So much for no prisoners.

There's yelling as we snake into the next room, a kitchen like space where six men wait, armed with rifles. "Firing!" someone yells. We've split up at this point; the four of us going right, five going left to sweep the building faster. Ours isn't the only gunfire, as the other party is already engaging the enemies but no one saying they've found the POW's.

We have to move quickly. At this point, the enemy could execute them at the drop of a hat.

The gunfire silences. "Anyone hit?" I shout, checking myself after the gunmen fall.

"All good, Sarge!" Our path leads us to a basement staircase, a bottleneck that we have to traverse quickly and carefully.

"Keep an eye on the back," I warn. We're all low to the ground, in between a walk and a crouch as we descend into the inky black abyss, our path only lit by a flashlight on my rifle. A rifle stock crashes into my face when we reach the bottom of the stairs, meeting just under my eye.

"Shit!" I hiss, feeling a trickle of blood where the impact has broken the skin. A hand shoves me out of the way and one of my group opens fire. There were three waiting for us, all earning bullet holes.

"Move along… we can't stop…" I say, pawing at my face a little. Nothing feels crunchy or broken, so it isn’t bad.

I'm in the back now, moving through the dark hallway praying our lead scans the room well enough when a hand covers my mouth, another trying for the gun in my hands. I try to bite the fingers, kicking and flailing my way out of their grasp. In the commotion of the house, however, my movements and capture go unnoticed.

I'm pulled back into the inky darkness of the basement. A door closes behind us as I'm half carried, half dragged. The hands throw me into a dark room, my helmet flying off from my fall, but I still have my rifle… _Why do I still have my rifle?_

I pick myself up, assuming the three point firing position before the door slams and locks, my captor not joining me.

Something shifts behind me and I whirl around, taking out my flashlight. There are four bodies with bags over their heads, arms and legs bound. My breath catches, they're not moving… _Oh shit, oh shit._

The three smaller female bodies are huddled close to the larger, a man… just smaller than I last remember Peeta. I reach for one of the cloth bags and remove it.

"Peeta!" I cry, throwing my arms around him though his mouth is taped shut. I grimace as I pull the tape back from his scruffy face.

"Katniss?" his weak voice asks.

I smile and pull the bags and tape from Enobaria, Cresta and Mason before sawing through the ropes that bind their limbs.

"They left you with a knife?" Enobaria asks in disbelief.

"And a handgun and…" I pull the blade from my vest, "and my rifle."

The serrated edge slices through the rope on Peeta's hand with some effort. "You're bleeding…" he says, his hand meeting my cheek, hot on the soon-to-be bruise.

"It's nothing,” I tell him. “They'll look at it when we get back." I try for the door, which is locked from the outside.

"There are two guards outside at all times. We've tried to escape twice…" Enobaria tells me as I take the rickety looking bookcase and table and push them both on their sides in the corner. "Get behind here, all four of you.” Naturally, Peeta protests my order. "Sergeant Mellark, you are in no condition to fight. Get behind the barricade!"

"Major, I'm downstairs with the targets behind a locked door." There’s only silence. "Major?" I look at the snapped antenna on my radio.

"Shit!"

"They left you with all your gear because they don't think you're a threat," Enobaria confirms. I look for things I can use to grab the guard’s attention. Bullets are precious, so that’s out of the question.

Someone must have used the radio because a loud shriek threatens to deafen me. "Dammit!" I hiss, pulling off the earpiece and throwing it to the ground.

"What are you doing?" Peeta asks as I pick up a wooden chair.

"Luring the guards," I tell him simply before pulling and quickly climbing to the top.

"Everdeen, this could be suicide…" Enobaria cautions.

I look between them, abused and exhausted. "I promised all of your families that you'd return home safe... I'm keeping that promise…"

Peeta's eyes meet mine but I look away. I can't let emotions cloud my judgment. "There is one thing you don't lock away in a room with a rifle unless you want this to end very… very badly…" I give one last glance to the table, the only thing besides me protecting four prisoners of war. I run at the door, bashing at the knob with the wooden chair once, twice, three times. The guards outside start to shout and throw the door open, but I'm waiting.

I use the butt of my rifle to knock the wind out of the first guard. His friend trips, not expecting the first to crumple to the ground. They're unarmed, so I can't shoot them…

"Ah ah ah, stay right there!" My rifle is trained on one of their hearts, the other pretty much subdued by his gasps for breath. I turn the laser sight on to emphasize my point, "Peeta, tell them to put their hands in the air!"

He does and one listens, though the other reaches into his vest, lunging at me with a knife like lightning. Double tap, that's all it takes to stop his attack. The thunder of gunfire echoes through the cement, bunker-like basement; shouts of wounded and questions about my location join the pitter-patter of casings.

"I will let you live, if you let me and your prisoners go," Peeta echoes my words in Arabic and the man talks.

"He's amused because you're just as much of a prisoner as we are." I cock my weapon. I'm no prisoner… I'm the one with the gun though my back is to the door. I realize I've made a stupid mistake when an arm wraps around my neck, cutting off my air supply, my captive reaching forward and tugging my rifle from my hands.

 _No… No… No…_  I swing my legs with all the force I can muster and hope that the rifle, which is now in the air, lands where my allies can get it. Through the blinding pain and lack of oxygen, I paw for my handgun, shooting the thief in the chest before my head is jerked to the side. He'll break my neck. I raise my hands in surrender, dropping the magazine from the gun and then tossing the pistol.

I’m trained to fight through strangulation to free myself, but a hot load of good that does when massive hands push your neck to the point of seeing stars.

He's speaking to Peeta, the only one in this room who speaks Arabic like his first language. My vision quickly becomes fuzzy just in time to see Peeta aiming my rifle in our direction.

 _No… Peeta, it's jammed, don't… Don't risk it_.

I try to kick at his feet, his shins, elbow him, anything to free myself, but his grip gets tighter. I'll suffocate before he has the balls to snap my neck.

There's gunfire, two shots both missing me and sinking into the man's shoulder. _How is Peeta such a good shot at close range?_

I drop to the ground, my eyes meeting the glassy ones of the man I just killed when I feel my assailant scramble. Something scrapes across the ground; it’s my pistol.

I laugh a little, the magazine kicked across the room by this point. He can't blow my brains out without any bullets.

But there's one more shot and a loud thump, which causes me to gasp and look up.

I'm back in Fallujah the moment Rue was shot, my eyes meeting Peeta's as his hope turns into agonizing fear.

 _No_ …


	21. Freedom

**Chapter 21 – Freedom**

_November 2003_

"Peeta!" I scream, pulling my knife out and sinking it into the heart of his shooter. I haven't caught my breath as I scramble to the barricade. "No, you can't do this!" I hiss as blood seeps through his pants.

His face is ghost white, the shot so close to his femoral artery, but luck works in funny ways. The blood oozes instead of spurting, a sure sign that it isn't severed.

I palpate the leg, checking for breaks. "How is it?" he asks weakly as I feel the slight crunch and sharp end of his broken femur.

"Remember when my leg was stuck under that building?" I ask.

He nods weakly, hissing as I apply pressure. "It's worse than that…" There’s no use in lying so I dig through my pack. Marines don't have medics, so we're trained to do two things when someone's bleeding out. I could apply a tourniquet, but that’s impossible right now since his femur crunch is far too high to be effective. My other option is to use Quikclot, a lovely clotting agent that heats up to a ridiculously uncomfortable and painful temperature. It's the only thing I have that can save his life and his leg.

I rummage through my pack hastily, pulling out a triangular bandage. "Bite down…" I instruct. He listens and I shake out the bag, bringing the contents to the bottom. "Enobaria, get his good leg and hold it down. Jo, Annie, grab his arms." Bored Marines are dangerous things… we tend to experiment with the things we have at our disposal, Quikclot being one of them. I've touched some, felt the heat of it… but Peeta will surely die without this.

"Ready?" Peeta nods. "Do not move this leg no matter what you do," I caution, ripping the bag and pouring the sandy powder into his bleeding wound. It takes a minute before he begins struggling to get away.

I can smell it as it reacts with his blood. I need to calm him, as his movements will surely push the bone through the skin. "Peeta!" I shout, putting my hands on the sides of his face to try and distract him. "I love you!" He stops and stares at me, the confession his immediate focus as I continue, "And I'm sorry… I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the morning you were captured. I was scared then, but I'm not anymore… And you can't be either," I plead, kissing his sweaty forehead.

"He's relaxing," Enobaria says as she releases his leg, "I'll get something for a splint. We have to move upstairs, or at least out of this hidden corner…"

"Hidden?" I look over my shoulder at the woman, now pulling my knife out of a man's heart and cleaning it on her leg.

"I ran for it the first night. We're in a back corner, with a door that looks just like the wall blocking the view. This is a hidden bunker."

That's why we haven't gotten back-up. "But the gunfire is done… Guess we won…" Johanna grumbles.

"Don't count your does before you gut 'em," I tell her, taking the broken pieces of wood Enobaria hands me and positioning them at the sides of Peeta's legs.

Peeta removes the bandage from his mouth. His teeth have cut through the cloth in places, making it difficult for me to fasten the splint with it. "Katniss?"  I look up at him as I tie the bandage."That is the most  _disgusting_  thing I think I've ever heard out of your mouth…" His voice is weak, but I smile as his hand brushes my cheek. "And you have a terrible mouth."

I grin and snap my teeth like a shark. "If we lift you up, can you stand on your good leg?" I ask and he nods. This is going to be difficult. Even though he's dropped a good few pounds, Peeta's still solidly built... and we have to get out of this bunker.

"I'm so tired…" he whispers as I loop my arms under his armpits, Enobaria and Johanna holding his hands.

This isn't good. "One… Two… Three," I say as we lift him. He doesn't scream in pain, but I know he wants to. I can feel his pain and fear, which threatens to rip my heart out of my chest. Somehow, we manage to get him to his feet.

"One of you get my rifle, one of you get my pistol and let's go…" I look at Annie, still huddled in the corner. "Actually… give me the handgun. Enobaria, take my rifle. Jo, get Annie…"

Moving Peeta is a lot easier said than done. He’s already weak from hunger and having one leg out of commission doesn't help, nor does the body pile we've left. "Lead the way, Lieutenant," I huff. "God, Peeta, you weigh a ton…" I tease, shaking him a little as we ease our way down the hall. "Keep your eyes open. If you fall asleep, there's no way we can carry you…"

We finally reach the end of the hall. "Lieutenant… this is-" I start, but she pulls on a rope, actually moving the wall. That's why they couldn't find me. The door was made of the same drywall that lines the basement walls.

When we cross the threshold, we're met by laser sights. "We come in peace!" Johanna hisses. "Dammit, that's my eye!" She swats at the beam of light as if that will get it off of her.

"Everdeen!" Haymitch yells.

"He's shot… His leg…" I say as Thresh and Abernathy take Peeta's weight off my shoulders.

* * *

I refuse to let go of Peeta's hand once we're inside the chopper. The only thing that breaks our grasp are the medics rushing him and the others to the "hospital”. General Coin stands with her arms crossed behind her back, waiting for me.

"Well, you did it, Everdeen. You've returned four POW's just in time for Thanksgiving." I look at the sun rising over the horizon, the sky turning a light purple. "Wash up and come to my office. I believe you have phone calls to make…"

We salute, "Ma'am, yes ma'am!"

I hurry from her before she can change her mind. The water from the shower runs black and green as the heavy paint runs off my face. I take a quick inventory of my injuries. There's a perfect impression from a rifle stock under my left eye and a large deep bruise around my neck, but that's it…

Before heading to Coin's office, I open Gale's door. His light is off, but I know he's not sleeping. "Catnip…" he jumps up, "How is she? Where…?"

"Medical ward, go get your woman…" I tell him. Peeta certainly isn't out of the clear. I know this injury is it for him. If he's not honorably discharged, he'll be sent home to heal. They all will.

I knock on Coin's door, but she only opens it to hand me the phone numbers.

It's 0520 here, eight hours behind for Peeta, nine for Enobaria and Johanna, and ten for Annie. Once again, I start with Enobaria’s husband.

"Hello, Jacob Enobaria?"

" _Yes?_ " His voice is so sad, so hallow.

"It's Sergeant Everdeen. Overnight, we led an operation to liberate your wife and the three other Marines being held prisoner," I'm getting to the point, but he doesn't let me finish.

" _What happened, is she okay? Can I speak to her?"_

"We're pleased to inform you that she's safe. She's being examined and will hopefully be able to call tomorrow."

" _Thank you…"_  he cries, " _God bless you_ …"

"Thank you, sir, have a wonderful evening…" Before I can hang up the phone I hear him shouting, " _Baby girl! Mommy's safe!"_ I smile and hang up.

I dial Peeta's number from memory, the number feeling so natural with the familiar area code.

" _Hello_?" It's his father, I would know his voice anywhere. I traded him squirrels for bread as a kid; he had a soft spot for the things.

"Mister Mellark, my name is Sergeant Everdeen-"

" _Little Katniss?"_  he asks from memory.

"Y-yes, that's me," I wrap my finger around my braid, "Last night, we led a mission to liberate the four POW's, your son being one of them…"

" _Is he safe? Is he alive?"_

I bite my lip, "He was shot, sir, in the leg. He's in the hospital now, but…"

" _He's safe… Thank you, thank you…"_

I bite my lip, "He was shot saving me…" sneaks out of my mouth before I can stop it.

Then Mister Mellark says the one thing I need to hear, the one thing that pulls me out of my terrible guilt spiral, " _That's his job."_

"Thank you, sir, and Happy Thanksgiving."

He sniffles a little. I imagine the tall broad baker from my hometown reduced to tears, a feat I never thought possible. _"There's so much to be thankful for this year…"_

I knock on Coin's door again. "Here you go, General." She takes the papers from my hands to return them to the proper files, or to get someone else to do it. "Thank you again. The mission you orchestrated went off without a hitch; we've rescued our POW's and didn't lose a single life," I tell her in the most sincere voice possible. If I let her think I'm telling everyone it was her plan all along, maybe I can fly under her radar again, or even get her to look past my many acts of insubordination.

"Thank you, Sergeant Everdeen. I'll have you know it wasn't _all_ my plan. A stubborn young Sergeant a lot like myself when I was her age reminded me that war isn't just a game of chess, it's a game of risks."

I nod and smile. "Good day, and Happy Thanksgiving, ma'am." She nods and closes her office door.

The base is buzzing about the mission, but I push myself into the medical ward. Annie is situated on a bed, Finnick's arms unable to let her go. Johanna and Gale are next to her, as the medics try to feed both of them. Get  _something_  in them.

"Everdeen… come here," Odair starts, as I sit on the edge of Annie's bed.

"Where's Peeta? And Enobaria?" I ask, looking over the beds. Scotts and Danielson are getting stitches, but other than that there are only nurses here.

"Enobaria discharged herself about a half hour ago. Peeta's in surgery to repair his leg. It's bad, Katniss." I nod, resting my hand on Annie's leg.

"Well, it's out of our hands now…" I whisper, "But what about you? I haven't heard a word out of you all evening."

I’ve spoken too soon because Annie lunges in my direction, wrapping her frail arms around me. "For everyone…" she whispers, "From the three of us."

"There were four of you captured…" I stroke her hair. They still haven't been able to shower, so it's greasy and reeks of sweat.

"Annie's pregnant…" he says. I look at Finnick, his usual cocky grin replaced with a proud one. "We were… suspicious when she was captured, but they tested her."

"Coin is sending me home in a few days once they're sure we're fine. I'll go back to North Carolina, work back in my shop again until I have to go on maternity leave." She wraps her arms around me again, tears soaking my t-shirt. "Thank each and every one of them for me." I nod and pat her back.

"I will, I promise…" She goes to lie back down, fatigue getting the best of her. "Your parents were happier to hear from me this time…" I tell them with a smile. The door to the medical ward opens and closes with a slam.

"Sergeant Everdeen…" The loud footsteps stop and I look up to see Major Abernathy, "General Coin would like me to present you with this," I stand up and walk towards him. He's holding my chevron for Gunnery Sergeant. No, there's an extra rocker, and a diamond.

"Tell her to keep it, I haven't earned it yet. And if she'll allow it, I'd like to actually be tested for Gunny."

His old eyes smile, "You're Abraham's kid, alright… which is why I've scheduled it for tomorrow, at 0800."

I smile and nod. "Thank you, Major…"

"Actually, you'll find it's Lieutenant Colonel, sweetheart. Please address me as such," he smiles.  I throw my arms around him, not caring about professionalism.

He stiffens but eases into the hug. "Thank you… between you pushing both me and her…we did it, we got them home. Now you can go back to see your baby, your wife, your daughters."

"And what about you?" he asks.

I look over at the happy couples and the emotions I've been pushing away for the last twenty four hours, the emotions I should have felt the second my boyfriend was shot and bleeding out finally hit me, though my mind has pushed them away so we could complete our objective.

"Everdeen?" his voice is softer as he places his hand on my cheek with a father's touch.

I swat his hand away, and turn on my heels while a nurse approaches. "Sergeant Everdeen, Sergeant Mellark is out of surgery and is asking for you. Says you're his next of kin."

 _Next of kin… Next of kin?_ They only need those if… I push past the nurse, heading for the door she just entered through. "Peeta!" I call.

"Sergeant Everdeen!" a hand pulls me and shoves me into the wall. "You can't go bursting through doors, especially in his fragile state!" the nurse hisses.

"Sorry… I just... wait, he’s asking for me?"

She looks at me glumly, "The anesthetist can't explain it, says it's a one in a million shot. He woke up as we were pacing his leg in traction," My heart clenches. Poor… poor Peeta. "He didn't scream… only asked if you were safe."

* * *

I cautiously open the door to his room. He's not able to recover with the general population, needing what looks like a pulley system to keep him from moving his leg… or to stretch it out. The nurse said he was in traction. "You should be sleeping, Sergeant Mellark," I say, all business.

"As should you, ma'am," he grunts, trying to sit up, but the traction holds him in a half-seated position.

I pull the chair in the corner next to his bed and without asking or even hinting at my actions, I run my fingers along his hairline, traveling down the side of his cheek and his strong jaw. "You're real…" I whisper.

He grabs my hand with cobra-like reflexes and kisses my knuckles. "What were you thinking, running off alone?"

"I didn't…" I lean forward and rest my head on his chest, which causes him to flinch a little. "I'm sorry!" I jerk up, "Did I hurt you?"

He smiles. "No, I… I'm just a little jumpy, that’s all. Come back down," I nod and nuzzle into his chest as his hand, in a powder blue brace, strokes my hair. "You should have someone look at this…" he murmurs as his thumb strokes my bruise. It hurts, but I’ve missed his touch so much…

"It's fine, it'll fade," I say, my fingers tracing the bruise on my neck. "As will this…"

We sit; well, he half sits and I half lay as we study each other. I have so many questions, but none I want to force on him. There's a pale scar under his eye that's new, cuts littering his arms…

_What did they do to him?_

"You're shaking…" I look up as he hides his trembling hands from me, but I take his arm and examine his good hand, the one not in a splint.

"It's the anesthesia," the nurse explains, setting down a tray. "It has this effect on some people, only they're  _usually_ asleep through this." She messes with his IV, checks his eyes and nods. "Are you hungry, Sergeant Mellark?"

"Starved," he yawns.

"I left some food on the table; eat at your leisure," she says and leaves us.

I go for the bowl; it’s the same stew I had before leaving, "Here…" I scrape the bottom of the spoon on the bowl and offer it to him.

"Katniss, you don't have to feed me…"

"Why?" I cock my head a little to the side, "You fed me once… plus," I shove the spoon in his mouth, "With your shaking hands, you'll make a mess."

"You'll make a great Mom someday…" he finally tells me. I set the now empty bowl down and push it off to the side.

"I'm not having kids…" I whisper, looking away. How can I tell this to the man I love, that I never intend on having a family. I just want to throw myself into my work until I retire so I never have to worry about going through what my mother did, or more importantly, putting him through that. "I'm not the domestic type…"

He shifts and a dopey grin spreads across his face. "Someday, I'm going to make you my wife, Sergeant Everdeen." His eyes are glassy, meaning he's still under the effect of whatever drugs they pumped him full of.

"Sergeant Mellark, I believe you're proposing to me. Though I only take marriage proposals from sober men," I smirk, "In fine suits with candles and flowers and romance."

"I'll take note, babe…" he says and shifts uncomfortably.

We sit in a strange silence, neither of us wanting to be the first to probe the awkward air. "Sergeant Everdeen?" I look over my shoulder, never so happy to see General Coin. "I thought I'd find you here. I need you in my office. Now,” she commands.

I shoot one last look at my boyfriend, awkwardness aside. I don't want to leave him for a second. "Yes, ma'am."

She leaves and I sneak a chaste kiss. "Sleep, that's an order," I say, motioning towards my eyes to tell him that I'm watching before hurrying off behind the General.

* * *

_November 2003_

"Peeta proposed…" I squint up, staring at the sun. "Well, kind of. He was really spacey from the pain killers and post-surgery." I wipe the sweat from my brow, watching the plane carrying Major… pardon, Lieutenant Colonel Abernathy, Johanna, Annie and Enobaria disappear from sight.

"So naturally you tucked your tail between your legs and ran away?"

"I called his bluff, kind of… then the General came to call the debriefing meeting…" I take my hat off again to wipe the sweat from my brow.

"You're going back home to move Peeta down to Lejeune, right?" Gale asks, shifting his rifle from one arm to the other. I should be sleeping now, but I needed to see my friends off.

I cock an eyebrow, "Yeah, why?"

He lowers his mirrored aviators, "Well, I finally got a hold of Waterfall. He agreed to meet with you. I need to get that ring from him."

My jaw hits the dusty Iraq ground. "I can't! Gale!" I hiss, "Waterfall and my grandfather are like brothers, you  _know_  how that situation is going to go…"

"Catnip!" he whines, "Your grandfather won't even be near there. He'll probably be at some lab or some shit…"

I sigh and sit on the ground, looking up at him. "So it's true? They're all cooking again?" I throw a rock in disgust, "And here I thought they went straight…"

"Please…so long as Cray looks the other way, the Hawthornes and Everdeens will be supplying upstate Pennsylvania with crank…" he yawns and joins me on the ground, "But apparently they've forgiven you for turning your back on them and moving Lillian and Prim away from their blood."

I'm in a tunnel made by my anger, "Lot of fucking nerve they have!" I hiss.

"Katniss… it was years ago, and you won't even be near the Seam. You'll be in town with your  _townie_  fiancé."

"I haven't said yes," I remind him. "I'm not getting married, Gale…"

"You should." I gawk at him, here I thought he understood!

"Don't look at me like that, Catnip. After...  _everything_  that happened, you didn't go off and hide, you fought. Hard. You're not your mother; you’re every bit a female version of Abraham Everdeen."

I stand up. "Gale, I've swayed on a lot of things, but this is the  _one_  thing where I'm holding true. I'm willing to open up physically, but I mean, come on. It took him getting _captured_ for me to admit that I love him."

"Please, we didn't know he was taken when we were in that hole!" he argues.

"Gale! To his face!" I put my sunglasses on, "He should be out of surgery now. I'm going back. 'Kay?"

"Yeah, yeah…" he looks up at the disappearing plane holding his girlfriend and just maybe, future wife.

* * *

_Christmas 2003_

"Just open it, it's from me," I tell my sister through the webcam. It's Christmas morning, the first Christmas I've ever not been home.

She pulls at the red silk strap of the long box. I told Mom to jazz it up, and she didn't disappoint.

She shakes the box. "Is it jewelry?" she asks. They've settled into their new home in North Carolina, and everything is ready for Peeta and I to arrive in the spring. He's leaving after the new year, though I'm staying until late February.

"Something more precious."

She opens the necklace box which contains a single piece of paper, "February 23, 2004… What is that?"

"It's the day I return to the States." There's a few second delay on the feed but I can see her eyes well up with tears.

"Oh, Katniss!" I see my mother in the background, smiling. "Wait until we get you from-"

"I'll be driving home from Pennsylvania. Peeta's moving in, remember?" she pouts, "I have some business to attend to in Wilkes-Barre as well. I won't be home until the end of March."

She nods, still teary. "But I'll know you're safe." I nod, not willing to tell her that I’m now a Gunnery Sergeant. My job is slightly more logistical than before, spending most of my time with patrol plans and weaponry. I've only seen Baghdad four more times and each one has resulted in the loss of life… but she doesn't need to hear about that.

"Of course, and guess what?"

She leans into the camera, hanging on my words. "You're getting married?" she asks excitedly.

I roll my eyes, "No, Primrose, we're getting a dog."

I pull out the picture I stole from Peeta to show Prim, "Her name is Phoenix." I hold the picture of the rusty brown boxer with the dopey dog eyes up to the camera, "And I'll feed her double if she puts Buttercup in his place."

She gasps, pulling the ever watchful cat into her lap, "Katniss, you wouldn't!"

I roll my eyes and look at the picture. The dog is cute, and Peeta assures me that she's good with his mother's cat… That's good enough for me.

"Oh, my sweet little duck, you know I would!" I stand up and start shrugging on my jacket. It's cold, well… cool this evening. Peeta and I agreed we wouldn't exchange gifts, mostly because I refused to accept anything since denying his proposal, which he vaguely remembered and had laughed about.

"You're going?" she asks, her voice unable to hide her sorrow.

"I have to work, little duck…" A fair amount of people have the night off and I have one of my last patrols with Thresh, who is leaving the same day as Peeta.

"But it's Christmas…" she whines, attached to her beliefs that Christmas is the one day of the year where everyone puts down their guns and hugs…

Or the day we lose three more in the city.

Everyone is a little more upbeat as I walk to the Armory, probably for New Years. "Happy Christmas!" a British soldier salutes.

"Merry Christmas, sir," I grin, taking a detour to the hospital where the love of my life is currently teaching himself how to speak Mandarin.

* * *

_December 31, 2003_

Everyone who isn't currently on watch is in the dining hall, with cameras strategically placed to feed our celebration back to the States. There are two combat journalists out and about, taking interviews and getting people to say how much they love and miss their families.

"Here," a grainy ultrasound picture is pushed across the table, "There's my son!"

"Or daughter," Peeta reminds him, finally able to leave the hospital in a wheelchair. He’s had three more surgeries and battled a nasty infection that almost led to them amputating his leg until they could put in pins and screws to hold his femur together.

Finnick looks panicked, "Daughter? I can't handle one of those! They get in trouble, bring home men!"

I roll my eyes and pick at my food. It’s my second dinner, but I’m starving. "Please, men are intimidated by a military Dad, and a military Mom? Any man that possible girl will bring home will tow a narrow line… inside your house."

He looks relieved then panicked again, understanding what I mean. "Everdeen!" I lean into Peeta and laugh, "Wait until you two have kids! I'm going to cause you all kinds of panic! I'll turn your black hair grey, little miss!"

I roll my eyes, not hashing up this argument again. "What time is it, babe?" Peeta asks, putting his hand on my knee to pull me out of my scowling match with Odair.

"2357, last three minutes of 2003," I hold up my glass, "Cheers to a better year than this one!" We clink our plastic glasses and I down my water. Though we're all sober, alcohol is still forbidden during active duty, which we are on twenty four seven. The hall is also getting rowdier. Soldiers and Marines, who earlier in the day had a pissing match on the firing range (which I was told to stay out of) and then on the basketball court, are getting along. There is a sense of urgency in the brotherhood between the Armed Forces this season; we’re really all that each other has this far away from our families.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!" Peeta laces his fingers with mine as the room counts down.

"Three! Two! One!" I lean in and press my lips against his, my hands finding his now shaggy blonde curls as his have found the back of my neck, pulling me close. His lips ignite a fire deep within my soul. It's a feeling I never want to forget or stop feeling. I never want to let this man out of my sight or spend a day without him, though soon we'll be forced to spend two long months away from each other.

I know what I have to do, something I never thought I could. "Peeta?" I ask after the kiss breaks.

He pulls away, smiling. "I love you, Katniss Everdeen…"

I clear my throat, "Remember the question you asked me in the hospital? Well… the statement…" he eyes me cautiously as I squeeze his hand tightly, "Well… we should do it." _Oh shit, where is my mouth going?_ "We  _should_  get married. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather spend the rest of my life with but you."

He smirks, "Sergeant Everdeen, I believe you're proposing."

I blush, my eyes darting to Major Odair, who just sits with his arms crossed. The room has an uneasy hush about it.

 _People are watching, Peeta, please don't make a scene_.

"I might be…" I say coyly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

He strokes his bottom lip, extending my pain and anxiety. A camera has moved close to us, surely this is going to be taped.  _Oh shit, oh shit… Come on, Peeta!_

"That's my job, you know, and I can't get down on one knee," he says, motioning to his leg. The cast should be off in a few weeks, followed by months of physical therapy which will conclude just before I fly home. He takes my hand once more, "Katniss Everdeen, I've known you for years, but haven't been close to you for very long. I'd give my life to save yours and know you'd do the same. I love you with all of my heart and as long as it beats, this will always be true," I bite my lip, blushing, "You deserve flowers and candles and fancy dress for your proposal. Someday I'll make that up to you, but for now… would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

My breath catches in my throat. I shouldn't be this surprised, but it's his words… his beautiful words that warm me deep within my core. The room has fallen silent, well, most of it, waiting on edge for my answer. "Yes!" I shout, throwing my arms around him, "Yes! A thousand times, yes!"

The hoots, cheers and congratulations threaten to deafen me.

* * *

_February 23, 2004_

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm a Gunnery Sergeant in the United States Marine Corps. I've been shot, had a building fall on me in an attempt to kill me, and almost lost my job, which is my life, because sometimes you just have to speak your mind. I'm the daughter of Lieutenant Abraham Everdeen, who lost his life fighting for freedom, which is something I've dedicated my life to. I've spent the last nine months in Iraq away from my mother and sister. But while there, I found the beginnings of my new family… with my future husband, Sergeant Peeta Mellark. Peeta was captured and spent an agonizing month as a Prisoner of War and will always have the scars, both physical and mental, to show for it. He has night terrors regularly, which I had to find out about from his father. His mother isn't too happy about our engagement, having never met me and knowing my hell raising family. And now I'm rambling in my head, distracting myself as the flight makes its final decent into Philadelphia, where my fiancé awaits…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Part One


	22. Our Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Now out of Iraq, Katniss and Peeta struggle to adjust to life outside of a combat zone. With no immediate threat to their safety the pair finds themselves in an almost tedious routine. Now the question arises, can a relationship forged in war survive their "peace"?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: Courage
> 
> Courage: Simply stated, courage is honor in action - and more. Courage is moral strength, the will to heed the inner voice of conscience, the will to do what is right regardless of the conduct of others. It is mental discipline, an adherence to a higher standard. Courage means willingness to take a stand for what is right in spite of adverse consequences. This courage, throughout the history of the Corps, has sustained Marines during the chaos, perils, and hardships of combat. And each day, it enables each Marine to look in the mirror - and smile.

* * *

_Part Two: Courage_

**_Courage: Simply stated, courage is honor in action - and more. Courage is moral strength, the will to heed the inner voice of conscience, the will to do what is right regardless of the conduct of others. It is mental discipline, an adherence to a higher standard. Courage means willingness to take a stand for what is right in spite of adverse consequences. This courage, throughout the history of the Corps, has sustained Marines during the chaos, perils, and hardships of combat. And each day, it enables each Marine to look in the mirror - and smile._ **

* * *

_Summary: Now out of Iraq, Katniss and Peeta struggle to adjust to life outside of a combat zone. With no immediate threat to their safety, the pair finds themselves in an almost tedious routine. Now the question arises, can a relationship forged during war survive their "peace"?_

* * *

_February 23, 2004_

_"As we make our final decent into Philadelphia, please turn off and stow all portable electronic devices and make sure that your seat backs and tray tables are returned to their original upright and locked positions…"_

Before today, I'd only ever been on a plane for work, but now all of that changes…

My fiancé, Sergeant Peeta Mellark, waits for me in that drab grey airport. I’ll be able to see him again, hear his voice, and feel his touch. Needless to say, I’m beyond giddy.

Prim was upset when I told her that I wasn't coming straight to North Carolina to be with her and Mom, but I have to take time and get to know my future in-laws.

 _In-laws…_ I shudder, remembering that I'll have to see my mother's family at some point, since my Dad's family and Gale's are so close. We're practically kin and they essentially disowned me for moving my family to Washington, DC. Apparently allowing two children and a sickly woman starve is okay, but moving blood to another part of the country is downright criminal.

"And we'd like to extend a special thank you to our men and women in uniform, fifty of which are with us today, coming home from Iraq and Afghanistan," the flight attendant applauds, with the rest of the cabin joining in. I hate this treatment… but my only winter clothes are camo. They would fit in well in Wilkes-Barre, but not so much on an airplane.

The stout and grey-haired woman next to me pats my thigh. "Good for you," she says with a Southern accent. I thank her, though confused by her words.

I close my eyes and try to push my mind everywhere but here as the plane jostles and finally meets the ground. I throw my seatbelt off the second we begin taxiing towards the gate.

I'm one of the first to exit, anxious to see him. _Peeta…_

I turn on my cell phone. There are no missed calls, but one text.

_I'll be at baggage claim… can't wait to see you._

I grin and rush through the airport, my pack beating against my back. I didn't bother cleaning my boots before leaving Iraq, as all the walking I did beat off the months of dust. I couldn't, however, get rid of the blood; mine, Peeta's, and the scum who held him captive.

According to Peeta and his father (who I have become very close to), he is doing well both physically and mentally. He's no longer in a cast and can walk around without a cane, but I’m still suspicious.

I'll be in Pennsylvania until the end of March or early April, whenever Peeta has to report to Lejeune… though I have until June. At some point, we'll have to get married. Well, not _have_ to, but the marriage benefits in the military are nice.

I take full advantage of the moving walkway, letting it increase my hurried pace before rushing down the stairs, taking one glance at the sign welcoming me to Philadelphia with Mayor Street's smiling face on it.

_Baggage claim, baggage claim…_

There are ‘Welcome Home’ signs being held by waiting parents, wives, husbands, children, friends… but I pass right through them.

"Peeta…" I breathe, finally seeing him and breaking into a run. "Peeta!" I cry, throwing myself into his arms, my fingers finding the warm fabric of his shirt.

He takes my head in his hands and presses his lips to mine. Every emotion we felt during our time apart is poured into this one kiss; this one hungry, needy, loving kiss.

"I love you…" I breathe once we finally surface for air.

"I love you, too…" he whispers, pulling me to him as his strong, broad chest soaks up my tears.

Peeta strokes my back. "I know, baby, I know…" he croaks, his own tears falling into my scalp.

* * *

"So, we're staying with my brother," he explains as I nod, "Because my mom won't let Phoenix in her house and I've spent far too long away from that dog."

I grin, "I can't wait to see the cat! Gale finally got him out of quarantine and up on his shots. He's bringing Amal to my Mom's place either tonight or tomorrow."

Peeta's hand reaches across the expansive front seat of his truck, his thumb stroking my knee. "But you should nap, it's what?" I look at my watch which is still set on Baghdad time.

"2300…ish," I yawn. "But I just got back, and I’ve missed you… I'll sleep later." Another yawn and I begin untying my boots, preparing for the two hour ride up into the mountains. "Plus, if I keep myself awake I can get rid of this jet lag faster…" I unbuckle my seatbelt and move to the center of the long seat, as there’s no center console in this truck. "How's your leg?" I ask.

I fasten the waist belt for the center seat and pull it tight before resting my head on his shoulder. "Hurts some times when it snows or rains, or when my fiancée nearly tackles me," he teases as I rub the inside of his thigh. The dreary grey of Philadelphia in the winter eventually gives way to the bucolic suburbs, protected from view by the off white stone walls of the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

After about another hour, the suburbs give way to farm land as you reach a stretch of mountains covered in rich dense forest that are filled with game. The only changes can be seen in the mountain faces, where trees have been removed and the coal rich rock has been disrupted. There are sparse quarries and towns nestled in valleys, with only tin roves and church steeples visible from the turnpike.

"Can we visit the Seam?" I ask, idly picking dirt out from under my nail. "I want to see what I left behind…"

Peeta tilts his head a little, kissing my cheek. "Anything for you…"

* * *

"Why… why didn't you tell me?" I groan, my dusty boots crunching the icy snow that leads to the charred remnants of my childhood home.

Peeta scratches the back of his head, limping to where I was nearly running. "I didn't know it was yours…” he says, shaking his head. “It happened like…two years ago?"

I pull my gloves on my hands. They’re not meant for keeping cold out, instead protecting me from nails and splinters. "What caused it? A lab?"

He shrugs, not understanding the importance of this as I push open the charred front door.

"Katniss, it could collapse on you!" Peeta cautions, keeping his distance. He can still see my every move through the frame of the house. The upstairs, which held our bedrooms, is gone; the only thing still standing is the staircase. More importantly, I notice a thin piece of wood labeled ‘Katniss and Primrose’ with marks at varying heights, along with our ages and the dates.

I grip the top, which ends just at my waist, and use my foot split the plywood. "What do you think you're doing?" a woman scolds, snow crunching as she approaches.

It’s the classic Everdeen greeting - aversion, anger and a double barrel Winchester. "I'm taking what's mine…" I snap, dusting off the piece of wood. "You'd better put that down, ma'am." I tip my hips forward, showing my handgun in my waist holster.

The shotgun is aimed right at my heart. "Aunt Rooba, come on, even for you this is a little dramatic," I say, keeping hold of my handgun, ready to snap it out. I back out of the house, never taking my eyes of my father's sister. I sound out the floor with my foot, holding onto the piece of my past and well, my piece.

"Katniss…" Peeta cautions as I bump into his chest, his hands holding onto my arms.

"Where'd you get that, girl?" she snaps, not recognizing me. Perhaps it would be for the best for Gale's grandfather to know I'm here. Rooba rounds the house, no longer aiming for me. Instead, she points at the ground with the barrel while her arthritic hands grab my name patch. "You steal this?" she snaps and I jerk away.

"No, I earned this, with sweat and blood," I say sharply, smoothing out my jacket as the bitter wind bites through me.

Her face softens. "How is that… Primrose?" she asks, putting her cold hand on my cheek.

I jerk away again. "No Auntie, I'm Katniss…"

Her face hardens at the sound of my name. "You shouldn't have come back, girl. There is nothing for you here. We stopped being blood when you turned your back on your roots."

I moved Mom and Prim to DC to keep them away from the family and all of its fun little issues. Gale had done the same, only the Hawthornes were more forgiving. "No, Rooba, we stopped being blood the night I came to your door skin and bones, looking for something to give my sick mother and sister. You told me I would get nowhere begging!" I take Peeta's hand and look at him. "Come on, let's go,” I say. “There's nothing here but a stubborn old hinny and my Daddy's gun."

I turn my back on her just as I did the night we left, sniffing the air as a cat weaves through my legs.

"Burning plastic and cat piss…" I grumble. "You should tell Jessop Hawthorne he's going to blow another house," I shout, not caring who hears. All across the Seam, they know what's going on. "Or Aunt Ripper," I add, getting into the truck and tightly holding the piece of my history and Prim's.

"She's just kind of staring…" Peeta smirks as the engine roars to life. "But you did basically call her an old ass... Or a mutt ass…" I sink down into the seat.

"I think I'm ready for that nap…"

* * *

I won't meet my future mother and father-in-law until tomorrow evening. "How do I look?" I ask quietly, finally nervous that I'll soon be meeting my future brothers.

Peeta's hand strokes my cheek before he leans in to kiss me. "Stunning, as always…" he murmurs before barking fills the bitter air, "That's Phoenix…" He opens the door and out hops a flash of rusty-colored fur that leaps forward to greet him. "Aw, baby, you're shaking!" he coos, bouncing the squirming creature who clearly regrets the decision to jump into Peeta's arms.

"She thought you were gone again, spent the last five hours sobbing in the corner," the voice says. "Big baby!" As I grab my bag and rifle case from the back of the car, a man, who I can only assume is Peeta's brother, walks out of the house, sans shoes. "So this is my future sister-in-law," he starts as I shrug my bag higher on my shoulder, "Your picture does not do you justice." I cock an eyebrow at Peeta, who's still cradling the boxer.

"Picture?" I ask. His brother goes for my rifle case, but I hand him my bag instead. "There's just fatigues in there, I think…" He looks at me, confused. "Erm… what I'm wearing…just regular camo, no Kevlar, no knee pads."

"Ahhh, I'm Andrew. Welcome to Nanticoke, but if it’s easier to remember, Wilkes-Barre," he says, holding out his free hand.

"Katniss Everdeen, and it's more like welcome back. I grew up on George Street. You know… over the bridge, where the houses give way to hovels."

His grip on my hand tightens. "Ahhh…" he nods knowingly, "Mom's going to love her, Peeta."  Phoenix is now sitting on the ground, staring me down apprehensively, while Peeta has my other two bags thrown over his shoulders.

"I think I should worry about winning over the dog first," I joke, following them. "Cray still sheriff?" I ask, setting my case down in the room that Peeta and I will be sharing. It's no plush king bed at the St. Regis, but big enough for two, and apparently Phoenix, who immediately jumps on the bed and rolls on her back.

I nervously let the dog sniff my hand. "No, now we have Sheriff Thread. Who, no offense, is finally going after the meth cookers," Andrew tells me. I shrug and pet the dog's stomach, her leg almost immediately kicking at an invisible target.

"Ain't no skin off my back, Andrew. My dad kept out of that, and I kept my family out of it, too.” Phoenix whirls around onto her legs, then assaults my face with her wet tongue. "Oh God, I probably taste like the desert," I exclaim, petting her face as the men laugh at the display of affection. Guess I've won over the dog.

"Well, I'm going to leave you two to unpack. The boxes her Mom sent are in the corner. Come, ‘Nix!" He snaps his fingers and the dog runs out the door, leaving Peeta and I alone.

"Nap?" he asks as I unbutton my jacket and toss it on the armchair situated in the corner. Next to go are my boots and finally my pants, leaving me clad in boy shorts and a green t-shirt.

I've never wanted sex so badly in my life, but my body would rather curl up in bed for the next day or so and try to figure out when it's appropriate to sleep. "Are you coming with me?"

He seems nervous as I climb into bed. "You okay, hun?" I ask.

I only get a nod before he goes for his pants. "Sorry, it's just… my leg…" As he sits on the edge of the bed, I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss his neck.

"What about it?" I ask, going for his button and zipper. He doesn't even try to stop me. On one leg, he lifts up and slides his pants down. A good portion of his left thigh is covered in pink scar tissue. "Lean back," I whisper, easing him down on the bed before I crawl around, sitting on my knees next to him. "Peeta, it's beautiful," I assure him, tracing the long wide scar with my finger. He stiffens when I lean forward and kiss it, sitting up to study my movements.

"Also…" I stretch out my legs over his, using his hand to trace the scar on my leg, "We're twins, see?"

He cracks a smile, pulling me to him. "I love you…" he whispers before positioning us at the top of the bed.

"And I love you. Now, never be ashamed of that… you got it saving my life," I murmur, tipping my head up to catch his lips in a short but loving kiss. "My hero…" I whisper.

He just chuckles before our moment is interrupted by whining at the door. "Please, babe, can the dog sleep with us?"

I just shrug, watching him limp to the door. As he flicks off the lights, Phoenix jumps up, curling herself neatly at the foot of our bed.

It's early, barely 2000, but I’m exhausted. I assume Peeta is as well, considering the dark circles under his eyes.

"We have so much space…" I whisper, pressing my body to his for warmth. He throws his leg over mine and kisses my nose.

"You'll still punch me in my sleep, babe…" he mumbles. I roll my eyes and turn around so we're spooning, "Sleep well… we have a big day ahead tomorrow."

Tomorrow, even though day one was nowhere close to a strict schedule.


	23. Wake-up Call

_February 2004_

0400 and I wake with a start. Peeta snores quietly in my ear. At some point, Phoenix has moved to be what I would call dessert spoon, laying with her back against my chest and my arms around her slim body.

Something tells me we've just found a bigger cock block than being in Iraq.

I smile and blow on the back of her head, which sends her into a panic. She flails wildly and falls from the bed with a thud. "Mmmm," Peeta cracks his eye open, "What time is it?"

"Four…" I grumble as Phoenix rests her head on the bed, pouting. "I think I'm going for a run…"

"Babe…" he pulls me to him but I don't roll over, "It's February, it's probably ten degrees out…"

The dog begins swatting at me with her paw, trying to get my attention. "Your dog wants to go out…" 'Out', how could I forget a dog's trigger word? Her ears perk up and she barks. "See?"

He groans and his arms relax, "Her leash is in the laundry room on the hook."

I roll over. His eyes are already closed and I'm positive he'll be back to sleep the second after I leave. "I love you…" I murmur, kissing his closed eyelids, his nose, and finally his lips.

He yawns loudly, "Love you, too… Be careful… Bears."

I pull on my camo from yesterday and slide my belt on, feeding it through the loops before attaching my holster to my hip and clipping my knife to the other side. "When am I not careful?" I ask. Phoenix has become privy to my plan; her nails scratching on the floor along with the occasional yip only make me rush more and more.

"When you… the building, and the strangling…" he yawns, "When you take her into the woods, she knows to come back when called but she's not much of a hunting dog."

I smile, this man knows me too well.

At first, Phoenix seems to regret getting out of bed so soon.  Once I break into a slow jog, however, she’s fine. Peeta has obviously trained her well. She never gets ahead or behind and doesn’t seem distracted by the early morning traffic.

"Easy…" I caution. The easiest way to get back to the Seam is via a frequently used train trestle. If I remember correctly, the first train comes through here at 445… I check my watch, which I managed to change back to EST. "Four thirty. Let's go, girl," I tell her. We only have to cross about five hundred feet, but halfway through Phoenix gets skittish; the gaps and frozen river becoming the focus of her attention. "Come here, girl…" I scoop her up in my arms, positioning her dirty paws so they drape over my shoulder. "I know, baby girl… I wouldn't want to fall into this stretch of the Susquehanna either…"

She hesitates when I bend to set her down, testing the ground a little before looking up at me as if asking, 'What's the holdup?'

A thin layer of snow must have fallen overnight because one hundred yards inside the forest, the only tracks come from Phoenix and I. "Shhh…" I attempt to hush her panting and her endless crunching of ice and snow, "Sit, girl."

She obeys my command, cocking her head and listening to the early morning with her sharper ears. I back her up to a sheer rock face and crouch next to her, watching the sky first turn a pale purple, then a bright pink.

She hears something in the distance but I don't trust her enough to let her off her lead. Instead, I settle for pulling out my handgun, the only weapon I brought. Once I manage to figure out where the game is, I'll go off without the dog and find my old stand; I'll even make a run to Cabela's to get a new one since I'm sure the family tore mine down.

The wind blows at our faces, trapping our scent in the mossy rocks. "Shhh…" I hear it now, the low drum of a ruffed grouse, or better known as a "muffler chicken."

"Where is it, girl?" I ask, not having had grouse in years. Phoenix tilts her head to our left and I aim. The one true test of a good hunting dog is her reaction to a gunshot.

"There he is…" I pull the slide back, closing one eye and aiming for center mass. I can't trust the sights to go for my usual hit, the head. "Easy…" I caution, holding tight onto Phoenix's collar. She jerks as the gun goes off, but the grouse dies immediately despite my shot being little high.

I unhook her leash and let go of her collar. "Fetch!" I yell. She bolts off and within seconds returns with the limp bird in her mouth. "Drop…" I say, but she just she cocks her head. "Phoenix…" I warn and she finally releases. "There's hope for you yet…" I kiss between her eyes and she licks my face.

"Who's a good girl?" I ask, scratching behind her ears. "You're no bloodhound, but damn…"

I get four more birds on our way back, all the while letting the dog walk off her leash. She never leaves my eyesight and actually does a good job flushing out birds from the brush. It's a game to her, as it should be for all hunting dogs. Run into the bush, startle the birds, get to fetch a warm feathery toy… which I take away and shove in my pockets.

No one's in the kitchen when I get home. I find a trash bag and cutting board before turning on the TV to catch the morning news. Phoenix, exhausted from our hunt, curls up at my feet in front of the wood stove where a small fire heats the room.

The worst part about cleaning birds is plucking the feathers. I'm quick to do away with the bird’s head before grabbing at the large feathers on the tails. "Mmm, morning… what is that?" a voice asks. I wipe the sweat from my brow and look up at a very confused blonde man I didn't see last night.

"Well…" I scrape the knife against the grain of the feathers, cleaning the strays from the flesh, "They're our state bird. I grew up calling 'em muffler chickens, but they're more commonly known as a ruffed grouse…" He cringes as I go to scrape another, "I'm Katniss, by the way…" I smile as Phoenix paws at a bit of dropped down.

"I'd shake your hand, but…" he shudders, sitting next to me as a well-dressed man warns of a coming blizzard. "I'm Ryan… the oldest."

I nod and slit the birds along their abdomen, digging my fingers in to scoop out whatever guts I can at first. "You seem to know what you're doing…" he observes as I wipe my forehead again.

"I've done this a few times before…" I pick up the kills by their legs, the dog following me, hoping that I drop one so she can eat it. The water takes a few seconds to get to the tap, the pipes rattling before cool water rinses the birds clean. "Do you have a Ziploc?" I ask, setting them down on paper towels.

He gets up and begins opening drawers, clearly confused in the kitchen before finally pulling out a box of freezer bags, "These, right?"

I nod. "Could you open one up?" I look at the plump birds again, "Actually… make that two." I press the air from the bags and throw them in the freezer.

"So…" he watches me clean up my mess from the kitchen table, his index finger pulling down the side of the bag to examine the guts, "You and my brother?"

I nod, smiling at the thought of my sleeping fiancé in the warm bed upstairs. "I think I'll go wake him up…"

Ryan nods, "Don't be too loud." I blush, hurrying from the kitchen after disposing of the gut bag and washing my hands.

Peeta snores quietly once more as I strip from my cold clothing. I'm down to my black underwear as I crawl up the bed, my fingers tracing along his form before I position myself to straddle his hips.

I inch the blankets down torturously slow until most of his chest is uncovered. "Mmm…" he groans as I kiss right above his heart.

"Good morning…" I smile, as his arms wrap around me.

He pulls me down to his chest, "You're freezing…"

"Then warm me up…" I say, rubbing my hips a little at his hardening length.

"With pleasure…" I catch his lips as he lifts my sports bra over my head, pulling away only to free myself from the tight black spandex.

There is no foreplay, both of us craving the touch of each other. "Mmmm…" I groan, feeling the familiar sensation of him stretching and filling me. Our fingers lace together as I slowly move up and down, using his bent arms for support.

"I missed this…" he moans before letting go and placing his hands on my waist, his thumbs massaging the now heated flesh beneath them.

"I love you…" I moan, as every single one of my movements puts pressure on my sweet spot.

Like a tidal wave, my orgasm washes over me, making me forget the two others in the house as I let out a moan from deep within my core.

I collapse onto him as my mind tries to recover from the sensation it's been without for nearly five months. "I could do that every day for the rest of my life… and I will still be amazed by how close I feel to you, and how lucky I am…" he whispers, moving my sweaty hair from my face.

His words bring tears to my eyes. The last time we made love was the night before his capture… and I was in such a rush.

"Hey…" he coos, the tips of his fingers tracing up my spine. His gentle touch turns my small tears into sobs. His strong hands find my shoulders and sit me up, "Why the tears?"

"The…" I take a deep breath, trying to hold myself together and choke my words out. His eyes are so gentle and kind. Bile rises in my throat as I think of him being held prisoner. "The last time we were together was before…" I fall apart at the seams, the thought of him beaten, bruised and bleeding out too much to bear. I let my body slump forward, "And I was too scared to tell you I loved you…" I cry, punching the mattress before his arms squeeze me.

"I knew you loved me… The whole time I was…" he clears his throat, his voice cracking a little as he speaks. "You're shit with words sometimes… you know that?"

And just like that, he's said just the right thing, the perfect thing to bring a smile to my face. "Until I'm mad…"

"Until you're mad…" he agrees. There's a knock on the door and Peeta pulls the quilt over us. "What?" he asks, his fingers tangled in my hair.

"Mom's going to be here in fifteen minutes. She done screaming yet?"

"Screw off, Ry!" Peeta snaps, clutching me protectively.

"Mmmm, oh Peeta!" he moans through the door in a high pitched voice. My tears are quickly replaced by a deep blush and a feeling of panic…

The last time I saw Peeta's mother she nearly broke my face.

"You're just jealous!" he yells back.

I take five minutes to scrub myself clean, thankful that it's winter and my fiancé doesn't mind if my legs and other regions grow a little fur.

In the movies, when the significant other meets his or her future mother-in-law, the partner usually says, "She'll love you."

Instead, the whole house holds its breath. They're townies and I'm from the Seam… but is that still the case? I've lived in DC for the last four years, and more importantly, Peeta and I are both Marines, titles we weren't born into, but instead earned.

"Here we go…" Andrew grumbles with a mouthful of toast. I braid my damp hair while Peeta puts another log in the wood stove.

Will she recognize me? Could I tell her that I’m just as ashamed of my family as any other sane human being would be?

The car outside cuts its engine and I hear the door close just as my cell phone starts ringing.

I look at the display…’ _Mom’._

"Shit…" I’m ten hours from Jacksonville and hurry from the table. "Hello?" I ask, closing the kitchen door.

" _Good morning, daughter of mine…"_ I know that voice.

"What did you hear?"

" _It was so nice hearing that you pulled a gun on Rooba…"_

"Momma, I didn't 'pull a gun' on her. She pointed Daddy's Winchester at me and I told her to stand down…"

She sighs,  _"They want to see you… I explained things to them a little better and they're trying… but Katniss, you know how the family is."_

I squeeze my eyes shut. "The family is the only thing you need. Without us, there is no you. Without you, there will never be an ‘us’ again. You must protect the family's secrets with your life upon pain of disownment…" I groan. "How did they ever learn that word?"

My mother laughs, " _Well, they're going to have a family meeting…this afternoon, I think. Everyone's coming, except Prim and I naturally. Call Grandma Sae, she's your foot back in the door…"_

I suck in a breath of air. "Mom, my future mother-in-law is in the other room. The last thing I need to worry about is a bunch of white trash who turned their backs on us when Daddy-" my words catch in my throat.

" _Katniss… Like it or not, they're your family… And life hasn't always been easy for any of them."_ I nod, flicking the end of my braid. " _When you're older, you'll understand that little feuds should just be brushed under the rug. Unfortunately, their brains are so burned out they act like kids…"_ I chuckle and brush the tears from my eyes. " _And don't you want them at your wedding?"_

Wedding…we haven’t discussed our plans. I’m fine with just going to the Justice of the Peace and signing a certificate. "Let's not discuss that now. I'll call you later, Mom… and text me Sae's number, please."

" _Sure thing, Katniss, see you in a few weeks…"_

"Yeah, I love you guys…" We say our goodbyes and I click my phone off, turning around and heading back into the kitchen. "Umm… hi," I stammer, after nearly bumping into Misses Mellark.

Her scrutinizing eyes are on me immediately. "Hello," she replies. I extend my hand which she shakes cautiously. "It's… pleasant to finally meet you face-to-face." I wince at her words; the one time we spoke, I had informed her that her son was a POW.

I smile and pull back my hand, watching her wipe hers off with a handkerchief. "A pleasure," I say, shoving mine in my pockets, fiddling with my pocket knife.

She takes a deep breath. "I always imagined that my son would marry nice girl from home… not-" she pauses.

"Not a Marine Sniper from the Seam?"

I realize finishing the sentence was the wrong thing to do as she says, "Not some meth cooking trash who is more concerned about running off into danger than her future and starting a family."

My jaw snaps shut. "Misses Mellark, I'm just as ashamed of my family as the rest of this town. Now you've only just met me, don't you think it's a little early to judge me?" she bristles.

"I know you're listening, all three of you," Misses Mellark snaps before looking at me again, "Boys… when you and Peeta have children, cross your fingers for girls…" she tells me as Ryan and Andrew file in.

I smile, unsure of how long this peace between the two of us will last. "I'll keep that in mind… though you'll need to be patient. Peeta and I aren't even going to consider children until we're both ready, and probably out of the military." She doesn’t need to know that I’m probably going to resign. Actually, Peeta isn't aware of this fact, either.

She and I will never be friends. That becomes clear when she asks me if there is anything I won't eat because she is still planning tonight's dinner.

I smile and pinch my tea bag. "I've lived off military food and MRE's for the last nine months, so I'll eat anything."

She snorts into her tea. "Well, you should be thankful that you don't have to beg for food."

"Mother!" Peeta snaps, "That is way out of line!"

I set my mug down. "No, Peeta, its fine…" I murmur, running my fingers along the porcelain. "I did have to beg for food once…"

Misses Mellark puts her hand to her chest. "And it's not my fault her drug addicted family couldn't take care of them after her father up and left them."

My fist smashes the table angrily. "Excuse me, ma'am, but my father didn't leave us. He was tortured and killed…"

"Katniss…" Peeta tries to calm me, his hand resting against my thigh and squeezing my knee, but I continue anyways.

"Because he went back for an injured Marine; he gave his life. You can say whatever you want about me, but don't you ever speak ill of my father."

"I think I'm done here. We'll see you tonight," she bristles. Peeta stands as she gets up to leave.

"Katniss and I aren't coming until you apologize for how you're behaving, Mom. I'm marrying this woman, and she's the reason I'm here today. If it wasn't for her, I'd be dead or worse. If anything, you should be thanking her, not throwing out insults about things that are out of her control and speaking about things you know  _nothing_  about."

She balls her fist before releasing it. "I'm sorry you feel that way… but please be logical, Peeta…"


	24. American Honey

I realize very quickly that I don't understand how to be a civilian. As everyone buzzes about the exchange between me and their mother, I welcome the small amount of stress.

This life is most definitely not for me, "Good girl…" I say to Phoenix as I take the damp toy from her mouth and tell her to sit again, "Easy…" Training a hunting dog is usually difficult, but she seems so driven to please me that she'll try anything - even waiting to retrieve her toy after it's been thrown across the yard.

I wind up and pitch the toy as hard as I can, pausing before clapping my hands to simulate the sound of gunfire.

"Get it girl!" I holler and she bolts.

She thunders back to me with the stuffed duck in her mouth, grinning like a fiend, "Damn…" I hear Peeta say as the door to the house closes just as Phoenix releases, "I'm not sure I've ever seen her so happy…"

I crouch down and pet the dog's head, "Boxers aren't known for their usefulness in hunting, but I've seen a boxer be trained to take down a grown man… Why can't this one learn to play a little fetch?" I smile as he hauls me to my feet, wrapping his strong arms around me.

"You've been out here for two hours, are you okay?"

To be honest, I'm more okay than I've been in a while. I have Peeta, we are safe, and I’ve maintained a certain level of stress to keep me from going crazy.

"I'm fine, yourself?" I throw the toy again and Phoenix waits for my command. I snap my fingers and she's off.

"I have my beautiful fiancée in my arms, my mother's being a colossal bitch, and we're expecting a blizzard,” he says. “I'm pretty good."

"That's why all the animals are going crazy. I bet if I take my rifle out I could get a good sized deer. Though I'm no good at the whole butchering thing," I sigh, "That’s my Aunt's specialty…"

“You're going to see them?" he asks as I kick at some snow.

I nod. "I should leave soon… you can come along if you want? They're going to be your in-laws…" I grumble.

Peeta buries his face in my loose hair, "You're so ashamed of them…"

I roll my eyes. "Can you blame me? I mean, it's really only a few that do… what they do, but all of them would rather die than let anyone harm the family."

"You guys sound like you're part of the mob," he jokes while kissing my neck. "You're cold… Come inside."

I shake my head. "We have to go soon. Do you mind if I drive? It's kind of hard to get to…"

"You should take my truck,” he says.  “My brothers and I are heading into town to see if we can get my mother to be reasonable. She wants to do dinner another time, seeing as the power's bound to go out…"

My wrist is aching and I can smell the snow in the air; it's going to be one hell of a storm. "Who would have thought," I start, cuddling into him some as Phoenix rolls around in the snow like a puppy, "That we'd be spending our time trying to make our families sane. And you can take the truck, I'll hike." I smile a little, "I miss the forest."

"How far is it?" he asks as I spin around in his arms so I'm facing him and catch his lips. They're chapped and cold but warm me to my core.

"Like a few miles, it's no big deal. I know these woods like the back of my hand, plus I'll be packing a lot of heat."

"You're not bringing your rifle," he mutters, his brow furrowed.

I stick out my tongue at him and head inside. If I'm going to walk, I need to leave now.

* * *

"Call me as soon as you get there," Peeta insists, zipping up my coat as I adjust the dark band covering my ears.

"I'm not sure if I'll get reception out there, you know how the mountains are. If you can't see a tower, you don't have service."

He kisses my forehead. "Please leave before the storm hits, it shouldn't go until overnight."

I adjust the strap of my rifle across my chest, feeling right with its weight on my back. "I will, I promise." I catch his lips once more and make my way through the door. "Good luck!"

"Play nice, Katniss!" he calls.

I have to wait for a freight train to pass the trestle. Instead of heading straight for the forest, I head up my old street and onto a pretty much unnamed road. It was once paved, but thanks to the harsh winters and abuse by the trucks my family is so fond of, the asphalt has turned into gravel. A lone car kicks up the dust behind me and I don't bother looking back. There's only two reasons to come up this road. One, you're an Everdeen or Hawthorne going to either Grandma Sae's or Waterfall's. Two, you're a cop.

"Well, I'll be damned. If it ain't little Katniss Everdeen, all grown up," a familiar voice greets.

"Deputy Darius, here I thought they would have sent you packing for all the trouble you let Gale and I cause," I drawl. He slows his car down to match my walking speed.

"Naw, little lady,” he chuckles, “The new sheriff wants to, but now that the two of you are gone, things got quieter," _Yeah right…_ "Well, I have to get going. Sheriff wants me to close off the bridge up 401 to make sure people don't come down this hill once the storm hits."

"Have fun, sir!" I nod.

"You too, and stay out of trouble. I know your other half isn't here, but I don't doubt you can still raise some hell on your own." I nod and he drives off just as I reach Grandma Sae's driveway.

"I can do this…" I whisper before pulling out my phone, seeing one bar.

 _“Here,”_  I send to Peeta before shoving it back in my pocket and making the long trek up the drive.

My father's brother, I believe we called him Buck, nearly falls off the railing of the porch when I come up the drive. "Graceful…" I say, adjusting the strap across my chest, "You sure you're my Daddy's brother?"

He opens his mouth to reply but the door swings open first. "Come on in, girl, just put the kettle on," Sae says. My grandmother is the only one of my family who I've spoken to in the last four years. "And God damn, this ain't a pissing contest." I smile and bang off my boots before going inside.

Her home is as warm as I remember it with that grandma smell trapped in her floral couches. "They're all in the other room, though Bristel opened up the Wild Turkey, so…"

I pull off my ear warmers and gloves. "I don't have long before this really does turn into a pissing contest."

She nods and hugs me, "My baby girl… finally come home…"

I bite my lip. "Sae… I'm not a kid anymore. I'm twenty-two, and I'm getting married."

"Kitty cat's getting married?" someone shouts from the other room. "We invited?"

"Naw, she'll probably pack that family up too and keep 'em away."

_This is going to be harder than I thought._

"Trust me, Jessop, you don't want anything to do with the family." I walk into the sitting room, steal the bottle from Bristel, and take a healthy chug. "I'm marrying a townie," I smirk proudly.

"Thieving bitch, gimme that!" She paws for the bottle, which is still at my lips. "That ain't water, Katniss, and it sure as shit ain't cheap!"

I finally hand it back, my core now warmed with a sweet fire. "I have to get back before the storm hits, can we get down to business?" I ask, my rifle stock on the ground. "And will Waterfall be showing up?"

"He'll be around…"

"Why'd you take Lillian and Prim from us? We're family, Kat, family sticks together." Buck finally asks.

I wince. "Momma was too sick to be without me, and Prim was too young…"

"So? Lilly could have gone to her townie family! They could have cared for her!"

I squeeze my eyes shut. I'm too young to deal with issues this deep, the hatred that runs in my blood's blood. "Momma was disowned for marrying Daddy. No offense, but you guys have earned a pretty bad reputation in this town…" I mumble.

Jessop Hawthorne stands up, I think he's Gale's second cousin. "That's just those uptight bitches. What we do on our own land is our business, the family's business."

"Jessop, you sit down right this minute and let the lady talk. This is why we're here. The family stays together," I look up and see the thin greying man. _Waterfall._  I wince; this man's hand was hard, coming down at the drop of a hat.

"Thanks, sir…" Jessop and I grumble. Though he's only about six years my senior, Jessop looks like he's made of old leather.

"Now, girl, speak," Waterfall nods, and I take a deep breath.

"You all saw, after Daddy died, Momma was barely living. After we got back from the funeral, which none of you attended I might add, she stopped talking, barely ate. She lost her job and didn't file for anything to help us. Which is why I asked for help, though you all turned us away…" I look around the room. "Gimme that," I steal the Wild Turkey from Bristel again and take another swig, "I'm not going into detail, but we finally got some assistance, even though you were all pretty fit with letting Prim and Momma starve."

"We were hurting, too, that was right after the mine shut down…" Buck says and I nod. I didn't know this, Mom didn't say, and when I practically begged for food all those years ago, they said nothing.

"But you all hunted, you could have spared something, we ate the pantry dry. Families protect each other, you just turned your backs on us. Prim was barely six…" The wind begins howling outside, shaking the small house.

"Storm's coming…"

"We don't have enough Turkey to get through a blizzard, not with Katniss chugging it all like we're hard to be around," Bristel complains.

"You guys are impossible to be around, remember Prim's fifth birthday? Bristel, you and Jessop nearly lit the damned forest on fire," someone snorts and like that, the tension is gone.

"I have to go… Peeta will be worried with the storm," I look out the window, a sheet of white coming down. The mountains tend to hide how fast a storm is actually moving, "Shit…" I move to the foyer and pull out my phone, dialing Peeta's number, "Pick up… pick up…"

"Katniss, are you okay?"

"Peeta…" I breathe, relieved. "The storm's too bad for me to come home; I’ll have to stay here…" I say as the line crackles.

"Are you safe?" he asks, hearing Phoenix barking in the background.

"Well, my cousin's pretty keen on the bourbon, but…" I hear the sweet crooning of a guitar, "Rooba didn't show and I'm guessing Ripper's still in the slammer. So…"

"I can pick you up, you don't seem like you're okay with this…" the line crackles again.

"Peeta Mellark, I've survived an explosion, a building falling on me, being shot…" I pause, "Though let’s only half count that… and your mother's wrath."

He chuckles, "Okay, but the second the storm quits, please come home. I miss you…"

I blush and the lights quit. "Aw come on! Can't we get a good wire up here?" someone shouts.

"I miss you, too, and the power's just quit.  I'm going to miss how you turn into a space heater the second I'm in bed with you…" I nervously flick the end of my braid, "I love you…"

"Love you too,” he says. “Be safe."

I disconnect and head back into the dark room. Candles are being lit and wood is being put on the fire, "This reminds me of the blizzard of ninety six. You remember that, Sae?" Waterfall asks, guitar in hand.

"Of course, that was the year Vick Hawthorne fell through the ice… how is he, Katniss?"

"Not walking on the lake any time soon. He's down in North Carolina with Gale and the rest of 'em."

I flop back down on the couch. "It looks like we'll be stuck up in here for a few days. Everyone get comfortable."

Waterfall plucks the strings on the guitar. "You still got your Daddy's set of pipes?" he asks.

I shrug, "Haven't done much singing in the last few years, I was too busy training."

He shrugs, "Well… You remember Ol' Red?"

He’s referring to the song his hunting dog is named after. "How could I forget? But I'm not much for singing right now…"

He snorts back, "City girls."

I roll my eyes. "Please, I'll always be a mountain girl, Waterfall."

He looks at me skeptically. "You show me you haven't gone soft, and I'll give you the ring."

I cock an eyebrow. First, I have to prove my worthiness to marry Peeta, and now I have to show the family I'm not some city bitch. _Awesome…just AWESOME._

The snow falls through the night and most of the next day, the large white flakes giving everything a peaceful look. I sleep curled up on the couch after helping polish off a bottle of Turkey and another of Jack. Everyone reminisced about times I had missed as the walls we had put up to keep each other out fell, or at least got weaker. It's amazing what a few bottles of rich, dark alcohol can do.

"So when's the wedding?" Sae asks, cooking bacon on her wood stove.

I look around the room, everyone waiting for my answer. "Not sure? We haven't talked about it yet."

"You should do it here, we have the barn that we could set up all nice…" I smile a little.

"I'll have to talk to Peeta first, I think we were just planning to go to the JP in North Carolina," I chomp on a piece of still warm bacon.

"Please, no grandbaby of mine is getting married at the Justice of the Peace…" she scoffs as I roll my eyes. "You call your Momma, I still have the dress she wore."

"I could just wear my blues, please, Sae…"

She waves. "I'll get Primrose in a wedding dress someday easy. You… I'll die before I see you get married in anything but white…"

I roll my eyes and watch her drop an egg into the bacon fat. "Momma hasn't cooked eggs in bacon in years." Sae smiles proudly at me.

"Townies…" she grumbles a few seconds later. "But, now that you all have your coffee, and we've all had a night's rest, perhaps we should tell Katniss why we called this meeting? Jessop?"

"Since we got the new sheriff, shit's been, well… downright cruel. Thread busted poor Ripper with barely an ounce on her, though he let her walk…" I nod, digging into the plate my grandmother just put in front of me, "We're going clean, Katniss… well, trying to, at least."

I choke a bit on my eggs as Jessop continues, "There ain't much money in it anymore and if we get locked up, it'll be trouble for the family, and the kids…" I don't believe them, surely they're lying!

"We're not perfect, but… when we saw you on the news last year, making something of yourself… we knew we had to…"

"I'll believe it when I see it,” I remark. “I was on George Street just the other night and it smelled like a lab…" I knew they would never stop, addicts can't just stop at the snap of a finger… but at least they're trying.

The snow finally quits around four, just before the sun starts to set. Though I have… tolerated my family, I know I need to get home to Peeta.

There is at least a foot of snow on the ground, which means walking will be impossible. "Anyone still have a working ATV?" I ask as we sit outside, most everyone enjoying their first smoke of the day.

"Yeah, leaving so soon?"

I nod, finally noticing a shotgun on the porch. The stock catches my attention - a rich walnut with  _"Lilly and Abe, March 21, 1982"_  carved into the wood. It's the same gun I took down my very first buck with. "I'm taking this…" I say as I pull my gloves off and marvel at its beauty.

"As you should, Katniss, you wanted to play with it at your parents’ wedding, but…,” Sae pauses, “Ten months old is a little young to be playing with guns."

 


	25. The Fortress

The door is unlocked when I get home. With two rifles strapped to my back, I'm sure I look like a mess.

I bang off my shoes and creep up to the bedroom Peeta and I share just as the wind picks up. "God dammit, Jessop, I told you to take the shortcut…" I grumble, opening the door and setting my baby and my victory token in the corner, safety on of course.

"Hey…" I whisper. Peeta is lying flat on his stomach on our bed, his eyes half open.

"You're home…" he whispers back. The dog, ever vigilant and snoring like a buzzsaw, is curled up next to him. "How'd it go?"

I sit on the edge of the bed, letting him curl up around me. "Better than I thought… they want to throw us a wedding…"

He chuckles and wraps his arms around my waist. "You're cold as ice…" he mumbles and pulls up the back of my shirt to kiss at the exposed skin.

"Then warm me up…" I stroke his cheek with my cold hand. He's sweating and breathing heavy, though he isn't warm. "Are you okay?" I ask while brushing the blonde curls from his forehead.

He shrugs, "Bad dream, but it's better now that you're here…"

"Aw, Phoenix wasn't enough?"

He snorts and the dog stretches at the sound of her name, "She missed you…"

I lean down and kiss his cheek, "I missed both of you… but her more."

"Wha?" he gasps, shock crossing his face.

"Kidding…who else is going to keep me warm at night, or make me laugh…" He goes back to kissing the cold, exposed flesh of my lower back. I groan in response, each kiss radiating heat throughout my dirty body, "Or do _that_  to me…"

"What?" he asks innocently, "Phoenix gives good kisses," he says and licks my flesh.

"Peeta… I'm not even going to touch that…" I stand up and remove my heavy jacket and shirt, adding it to the pile of laundry. "How is your power on?"

"They like the town better…" he smirks, "We even have hot water…"

I cock an eyebrow as I undo the Velcro belt holding up my pants. "Well then…" I offer him my hand, "Shall we?"

The water from the shower beats down on our heads as we hold onto each other. "I never want to spend another night away from you…" I finally whisper, "It was strange, being curled up on the couch next to my drunk cousin…"

He chuckles and moves so my hair gets wet, "Tell me about it, my brothers are still over at my parents' place."

"How'd that go?" I ask.

"Mom agreed to play nice. I told her that if she didn't, she wouldn't get to see our wedding or her grandchildren…" I pull back from him, my jaw slack. "When and if they come," he tacks on. "I know you're not even close to ready…" he says, running his fingers through my wet hair, "Plus you're young, and there are so many obstacles we need to overcome before we even consider it. Though someday, I would like to tuck in a little girl who's just like you…"

I blow a raspberry and bury my head in his chest, "Please, have you  _met_  me? Why would you want a second person like me in your house?"

He goes to shampoo my hair as I run my fingers through the light hair on his chest, "Have you met yourself? You're the strongest person I've ever met…"

"You could throw me half way across the room if you wanted to. I've seen you throw a hundred pound bag of flour over your head like it was nothing," I tilt my head back to rinse.

"Katniss, strength comes in many forms," he murmurs. I let go of him just long enough to make sure there's no shampoo in my hair before I give him the same treatment, though I have to stand on my toes to do so. I stumble once or twice but his hands are there to keep me up, to protect me.

"They're going straight," I blurt out and Peeta looks at me, confused. "My family, I mean. They're… I don't believe them. I'll have to see it first. But if we choose to get married while we're up here, I won't be as afraid to bring Prim up…"

"That's amazing…" he pulls me to his chest and we shift again, "See? We both made good progress yesterday…"

I smile just as the lights cut out. "Shit…" he grumbles, "Here, hurry up before the water heater runs out."

"Hurry? Mister Mellark, I'm a pro at showering in under five minutes… though…" I pick up my leg and run my hands along it, "I would like to shave… oh well! Do you mind?"

I can tell he's rolling his eyes, "Do I ever?" Somehow he finds my lips and kisses me lightly.

"I love you, Peeta, you don't try and change me…"

"And I love you, because you could never be changed."

By the time we get out, Ryan and Andrew are back and arguing downstairs. Apparently they wanted to play XBOX, but that's impossible now. "Should we go down there?" I ask.

"We could always entertain ourselves…" he suggests, cocking an eyebrow.

I shake my head no. "There's no fireplace in the bedroom and it'll get really cold really fast. We should just go downstairs and suffer through it."

"Good battle plan, Sarge," he smirks. I drop my towel and receive a spanking in return.

"Hey!" I gasp and run away, but this gets the dog going. "You upset the baby!" I pull Phoenix into a hug but she's looking around and bobbing her head, wondering what the hell just happened. "It's okay… Momma's here…"

I steal a pair of Peeta's sweatpants and pull my USMC sweatshirt over my head before we head downstairs. My long hair is still damp, but there's not much I can do about it.

"Sit," Peeta instructs and pulls a chair in front of the fire. As I do, a towel is thrown over my head.

"Hey!" His hands start rubbing my scalp, towel drying my hair as best he can. "I can't have you getting sick…"

"Aww… ain't they cute?" one of boys asks as I hear a bottle cap hit the ground.

"We try," I say and stretch my legs to warm up my feet, wiggling my toes.

"So what was Jessop Hawthorne doing on this side of town?" Andrew asks.

I lift the towel off my head and fold it in my lap. "He gave me a ride home this morning. Does gossip still spread that fast?"

Ryan nods, chugging his beer, "Yeah, faster now that we have the internet actually."

"And the XBOX!" Andrew grumbles, "I had to kick your ass in CoD some more…" and flops down on the couch.

Peeta and I exchange a look, "Call of Duty… it's a war game," he explains.

I frown, "Hold on one second…" I hurry upstairs to get my baby, which should probably be at Lejeune waiting for me. "Do they have one of these?" I ask, holding it out for them to see.

"Holy crap, you brought  _that_  into the house?"

My eyes narrow, "She's nice, barely kicks." I cover my hand with my sleeve and unscrew the barrel, "Though she is a dirty girl…" I frown a little at the threads covered in pale, fine dirt.

"What is it?"

"Her sniper rifle," Peeta explains. "She nearly bit someone's head off her first day in Iraq because they messed with her scope."

"Hey!" I aim away from them, "It was  _really_  off."

I clean my rifle as the boys joke about their childhood. "Zombie apocalypse, who do you think would survive the longest?"

I raise my hand. "I can live off the land, I'm good at hiding. I've been trained how to cover my tracks and make myself invisible."

"Your overconfidence is your weakness," Andrew retorts.

Peeta smirks at his brother, "You've never seen her shoot." I stick my tongue out, proud of my fiancé for defending my very egotistical statement.

"Actually, Peeta is better in close quarters than I am. Peeta…" I cut myself off.  _Could I talk about his rescue?_

"It's fine, Kat," he reassures me.

I nod and continue, "When we went to rescue Peeta, I was being strangled; he shot my assailant in the shoulder, missing me completely though he must have had next to no target."

I smile and rest my hand on his leg. But when I look up, instead of his soft face, I see the shocked, painful one from after he was shot. My hand tingles as I feel my knife blade push through the ribs of the man who shot him.

" _Katniss!_ " I hear him shout as I'm suddenly jostled back to reality.

"Sorry… I went…" I swallow, "Somewhere else. I'm going to go put this away…" I hurry up the stairs back to our bedroom, trying to shake the images that are floating around in my head.

"Hey…" I jump when I hear Peeta behind me, "Are you okay?"

I sit down on the bed and the dam breaks, "I just… I saw…" I don't need to say more, since his arms are already finding their way around me.

We lay down, my face buried in his chest as we cry together, his arms the fortress from which I draw my strength. "Babe, have you thought about being checked out?"

I look up at him, wiping my nose with my sleeve, "For what?"

"For PTSD, they ran me through when I came back…"

"And?"

He shrugs, "I don't like my eyes covered, dark spaces, or the blankets over my face, but other than that, I'm clear. You, on the other hand, just had a full-on flashback."

I shake my head, "I'm fine, Peeta… As long as you're here, I'm fine."

He just sighs in reply, knowing not to argue.

_I'm fine, I have to be. He's the one who was captured._

We stay in bed, holding on to each other for both comfort and warmth before pulling the covers up to our necks, "So… your family wants us to get married here…" he starts, and I nod into his chest. "How do you feel about that?"

"If my mom, Prim, and Gale can come up, I'm all for it. But what would I wear? I suggested my blues, but Grandma Sae told me I could wear the dress my mother wore." I say, shrugging. "I'm just not sure your family and my family would get along in an enclosed space," He chuckles at this. "We could use Sae's barn; she hasn't had an animal in it in like twenty years. Either my aunt… or cousin…wait, definitely cousin, had their wedding there a few winters ago, it was pretty."

"You're conflicted…" he sits up and I roll over, "And that's okay, but…" he pauses and opens the drawer of his bedside table, "My mother wanted you to have this." I sit up and watch him pull out a small black box, "It was my grandmother's…" He opens it and I hear myself gasp.

"I can't accept this!" It's a peace offering. A single round diamond nestled in a gold band, etched with a beautiful filigree. "Wait, your  _mother_  wanted me to have this?"

He smiles and slips the band on my finger; it fits perfectly. "She told me that no daughter-in-law of hers would be caught dead without an engagement ring… then she questioned me for not buying you one."

"Because I would have said no," I twist it around on my finger, marveling at it. "It's beautiful, Peeta…"

He kisses my forehead, "I know you joked about flowers, fancy clothes and what not… but that's not us."

I nod and smile. "I was joking. You know that, right?"

He shrugs and wraps his arms around me. "I was hopped up on painkillers, you could have told me I could fly and I would have believed you. I wanted to do something romantic, but I honestly can't think of anything more romantic than us being snowed in, cuddling in bed…"

"You're going soft on me, Mellark," he smirks and tugs me so I'm lying down, then climbs on top of me. "Or… or not." I want him, but stripping our clothes off would be bad, especially since the temperature in the bedroom is dropping fast. "But… could we just…" I bite my lip and look up at him, "You know, cuddle?"

He smiles and rolls off, pulling me to him as I adjust the covers, "Every night for the rest of our lives."

"I like the sound of that…"

He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, and my nose before asking, "What's the very latest we can leave for North Carolina?"

"You have to report on the eighth of April?" He nods, and I think for a minute. It's about a ten hour drive given traffic around Harrisburg, DC, and Richmond. "Probably the fourth? Gives us a day to get down if we drive in shifts, then the weekend to unpack and get situated."

He nods, "We should do it, get married up here. Our families can be here to see it. If we tell them early enough, Gale and Johanna can get a seventy-two so they can come up, too…"

I nod and smile. "When then?"

"The last weekend in March? Gives them the most amount of time, gives us time to find you a dress…"

I kiss him lightly, "If I'm wearing a dress, you'll be in a tux."

He rolls his eyes, "I earned my blues."

I pout, "So did I!"

He pulls me close and rolls onto his back, shifting me like a doll on top of him. "Yeah? But I've earned a chance to see you in a wedding dress."

I huff and sit up, "Ass…" I grumble at him.

"You can wear your blues to the next Ball…" he points out. Oh yes, the Marine Corps Ball, something I've avoided in my last four years of service.

"Do we have to?" I pout again like a child and lay down on top of him, nestling into his chest.

"Maybe… we'll deal with that in November when it actually matters," I nod and close my eyes, listening to his slow breathing and loud heartbeat.


	26. The Ultimatum

_March 2004_

The forest is eerily calm in the few days following a large snow storm. The bare branches hang sadly coated in ice and fluffy snow from the two and a half days of steady precipitation. I had to leave the dog at home, not wanting to worry about the safety of her poor paws and not needing to carry her home through the knee high snow. It's a struggle getting from the bridge to the forest, but my body needs it. Six days of rest and I'm going crazy, having cleaned almost every surface in the house. If we had hot water for the washers, I would have done the sheets and maybe even the curtains.

Peeta calls it stir crazy, but I prefer the term trapped.

It's early - barely six AM and the biting wind blows a drift's worth of snow into my collar. I fix my zipper for the hundredth time and continue my trek. It's the time of year where winter is about to give way to spring. All the wildlife has been laying low for the last few days and the hungry prey will be dumb enough to meet my bullet. Even larger kills, like deer and unfortunately, bears, will also be about.

My "go-to" spot is the back of the rock face where Phoenix and I usually hide, but today I need to be up and away from the creatures. I look for a decent sized pine to perch up in, but the needles hold far too much snow to make it a safe option.

I dig my toe in the snow and a white stick comes up, a dropped antler. "Perfect!" I exclaim, digging around for about a half hour until I get a matching set. I can't hide my grin as I search for a suitable perch, but come up with nothing. _Oh well, back to the rock face…_

Too lazy to walk around, I settle for a climb. It's not very high, barely fifteen feet. Fortunately for me, the rock in this area doesn't break off in sheer sheets. Instead, it yields to large hand and foot holds which are covered in snow and ice, soaking through my gloves pretty quickly.

"Guess tactical gloves were a bad choice…" I grumble, swinging my leg up onto the small cliff. I take a moment to brush off the snow. It's shallow, the wind having blown it down to the bottom so soon I'm sitting cross-legged on the frigid rock. The deer aren't going to be in the rut, so my plan to draw them out with dropped antlers is a long shot.

I also don't have any feed, so I'll have to settle.

"What are you up to?" a familiar voice says. I spin around, my rifle in hand.

"Hunting. What are you doing here, Waterfall?" I ask. His old hound is missing, most likely for the same reason I left Phoenix at home.

"Same thing as you I reckon, you know how the critters go batshit after a good snow," I nod and catch the dried cob of corn he tosses at me.

"I would have thought you'd bring your boy out here," he says as I spin around, looking over the cliff.

"Peeta took a bullet to the leg while we were in Iraq. I doubt he could make the hike on a good day…"

Waterfall sits down next to me and spits obnoxiously, "You guys discuss our offer?" I nod in reply, pitching the cob over the edge into the clearing where I'd seen tracks before and signs of nests.

"Yeah, we were thinking the twenty sixth of this month?" I say as a deer ventures from the thicket to investigate the new food. "That way, we can give my mom and Prim, and maybe even the rest of Hawthornes a chance to get up here. I'm sure the new sheriff needs to be broken in some as well." I wait for the deer to turn its flank to me so I can take the shot. "Gale and I could raise some hell again," I snicker as I pull back the bolt and aim for the kill zone.

"If I offer to give you half of this, will you drag it back to Rooba for butchering?" I inquire.

"If you take it down with a real weapon," he pauses, "I'll give you all of it, and my wife's ring for your little friend." He hands me a scope-less rifle. It's old, and the bolt doesn't draw back as smoothly as mine.

"What caliber?"

"Doesn't matter, you're missing your chance…" he says, pointing at the deer. I haven't had venison in ages, especially fresh venison. So I aim with the sights, pull the trigger and hope for the best.

Although it isn't a perfect shot, I see red blood stain the snow as the deer runs to its death. "Nice shooting, Tex!" Waterfall shouts. "A little off, but Abe would be proud." We hear a thud and a whine in the calm woods. "Let's go and take care of it."

Between the snow and my shot, the buck barely made it twenty yards before dropping. "When we were kids, Gale and I took down an eight point," I recall as I pull out my hunting knife after insuring my prey is indeed dead.

I work with the precision and determination instilled in me by my father. "At least the coyotes will eat well," Waterfall chuckles as my field dressing pile grows, "I'll call shithead."

I'm left alone to work for a few minutes as Gale's grandfather calls who I assume to be Jessop. Once the internal organs are removed, which taint the meat, I realize I have nothing to secure the legs or help drag it. "Jess will be here in about ten," I nod and gather some snow, watching as the melting powder washes the blood from my hands. It's not enough - there's still plenty left on my knees and between the cracks in my skin.

I'm busy petting the wiry fur on the deer's head when it happens. My eyes can't break from the red snow around me, or the bloody knees of my pants.

I hear a cough, weak and wet. When I look down, Rue's dead eyes meet mine. "No…" I whisper, stroking back her hair. "No!" I roar. _This was my kill, no…_

"I didn't kill her, it wasn't me!" I sob, looking up at my companion. "Peeta, I'm so sorry!" He doesn't look angry, just confused.

"Katniss," Peeta kneels next to me.

"She's just a little girl, I didn't mean to, I didn't…" I cry, looking down at Rue's dead eyes before everything begins to shake.

"God dammit, Katniss!"  _Wait…I'm not in Iraq… I'm in Pennsylvania._  "You've gone batty just like your Momma!"

My jaw snaps closed as I look up at Waterfall. "Well, drop the knife, dammit!" he yells. "And you're holding it by the blade!" I look down and throw my blade like it's made of fire. It is then I realize that my palm is stained red with my own blood.

* * *

"She was screaming in the woods…" I stare out the window, listening to Peeta and Waterfall discuss my outburst.

"What about?" he asks idly, blotting away the fresh blood and cleaning my wound. I'm pretty certain it's going to need stitches.

"That she didn't kill 'her'." Waterfall says. "I was about to correct her, but thought that would be worse."

Peeta nods and wraps my hand in a rag. "I'm taking her to the hospital."

"No," I finally say. "No hospitals, no doctors. I'm fine," I try and pull my hand away with no luck. "Please, Peeta…" I whine.

I feel a hand on my chin and Waterfall forces me to look in his eyes. "Listen, girl, you're sick," he states as I struggle away, "Protect the family."

"Protect the family…" I echo. _Am I really that much of a threat?_

"Come on, Kat," Peeta helps me to my feet, then looks at Waterfall. "I'll take her to Wilkes General."

"I'm going to call Lilly." I give up and decide to just let them take me. They'll figure out that there's nothing wrong and send me home with a few stitches in my hand. "You two go on ahead, Jess will get me in a few. Call me when they're done looking at her," Waterfall says.

I still don't argue, or speak on my own behalf. Right now, that's Peeta's job.

* * *

I wince as the nurse pokes at my cut to test the numbness, "Can you still feel?"

I nod, my good hand holding tightly onto Peeta's. "Just go ahead…" I mumble, "I've been through worse…"

I look up at Peeta and smile faintly as the needle sinks into the flesh of my palm. "Numb yet?" he asks.

I nod slightly. Though the pain in my palm is very real, I  _feel_  nothing. It's been gradual since my return. The less I sleep, the less I feel. The only things that keep me up and on my feet are Peeta and Phoenix, my two beacons of hope.

"Dr. Aurelius will be with you shortly," the nurse tells me, leaving the room after wrapping my hand in gauze.

I hop off the table and pull my coat on. "What are you doing?" he asks incredulously. Peeta hasn't moved an inch; he's the one with the keys.

"Leaving. My hand's fixed. I don't need to see the doctor. I want to go home."

"Katniss, you need to talk to someone…"

"I have you…" I whine, trying to plead my case. I don't  _want_  to talk to someone.

His eyes leave mine, hurt written all over his face. "You never have before," he grumbles. "Every night you lie awake until you think it's appropriate to wake up, then spend half the day in the forest. When you get home you barely talk, and you don't eat. Katniss, have you  _looked_  at yourself?"

I bite my lip, "The power's been out… "

He gets up from the chair and removes the shiny lid of a tongue depressor jar to show me my face. I've kept the boys well fed on grouse and anything else I cab get my hands on, but have skipped enough meals to give my face a very slight, sunken-in look that you wouldn't question if you didn't know me. Under my eyes are deep, purple circles from stress and lack of sleep. "I'm sorry if I'm not up to your standards…" I hiss. "Now can we please go home, Peeta? I just want to lay down…"

"Katniss," he says softly, taking my hand as I go for the door. "We're not getting married until you at least talk to someone."  _Great, an ultimatum._  Either I talk to the hospital shrink and have them start their little file on my mental issues, or risk losing the man I love and possibly more.

I actually _want_  to marry Peeta. Not just because of the benefits or that there will be two Sergeant Mellarks at Lejeune, which I'm sure will provide some amusement. The fact is that I  _want_  to be Peeta's bride. The thought of walking down the aisle in the same white dress as my mother with who knows escorting me, probably Gale, has crept up on me over the last few days.

"If… if I have PTSD, they could discharge me," I say, my voice cracking as I stare at the door. "Or take away my clearance to be a sniper. They'll take what makes me  _me_  away…"

"Those things don't make you, Katniss." I bite my lip, how can he not already see that the Marine Corps is my life?

"Your compassion, determination to do whatever you set your mind to… how you drown your food in hot sauce and scowl at everything… only smiling occasionally…" he sighs, realizing he's rambling. "I'm sorry…"

I sit down on the table again, waiting for the doctor while playing with the stirrups for the gynecological exams performed in this do-it-all hospital. We don't have specialty centers in the mountains. If you need something big like a transplant or trauma care, you'll be sent to Allentown, Harrisburg or even Philadelphia.

When I was young and the mines were still open, when the family didn't rely on drug money, a man blew his leg clear off and was flown to Harrisburg to go to a real hospital. Yet we could repair a broken femur in Baghdad, Iraq.

I run my finger along the gauze as the door creaks open. "Good evening," I hear a man's voice say but I don't look up. I don't want to see him, I just want to leave.

"Can she speak?" the doctor asks Peeta.

"Yes, when she wants to," he says with a protective edge to his voice.

_Pick a side! Either force me into this, or help me escape…_

"So this is the Sergeant Everdeen I've heard so much about…" he says, which causes me to look up. "She's a lot older than I remember…" Dr. Aurelius scrapes a chair to the foot of the table. "Same eyes as her Dad," I narrow them in response, "Same scowl, too. You don't remember me, do you?"

"N-no…" I choke out.

"I treated your mother years ago," I nod. "I used to make house calls for your mom."

"Why are you here?" I grumble. "Don't shrinks operate out of fancy offices?" I say, sneering.

"I do have an office. Can you leave us for a bit, Peeta?"

He nods and kisses the top of my head, despite my filth. "I love you…" he says.

"And I love you…" I whisper back. When the door closes, I look at Dr. Aurelius, "I'm not crazy."

He smiles faintly. "You know, I've found that only the truly insane think they're sane. The rest of us think something's wrong." He pulls out a pen and begins to write on his large yellow pad. "Now, you already have a family history of depression," he says and I shift uneasily. I need Peeta, he makes me feel brave.

I try to calm my now rapid breathing. "Would you like me to bring Peeta back in?" he asks, and I nod. Once he returns to the room, I hold his hand tightly. His strength is my strength, and if this goes terribly wrong, I don't have to hunt him down to make an escape. "Now, where were we?" Dr. Aurelius continues.

"My mother…"

He nods. "Ah yes, now, you just returned from Iraq?" I nod, "Tell me about your time there."

I bite my lip, my teeth catching on a piece of dried skin making me wince. "I was sent there in May, after being non-deployable for…well, a while."

"What was your job, your purpose?"

"Before Iraq, I protected government officials. When I was deployed, I was a sniper," he nods again and writes. "Our first leg, I was more of a counter-sniper. The last leg, when we were in Baghdad, I protected convoys while they retrieved airdrops. Then I was in charge of the female PT after our Lieutenant was taken…" I finish, feeling Peeta stiffen.

"How have you felt since returning to America?"

I think for a second. "Bored? Anxious? Like I don't have a purpose?" I avoid looking at Peeta as the doctor continues to write.

"She doesn't eat, and when she sleeps, it's only for an hour or so at a time. When it's longer, she wakes up screaming," Peeta interjects, and I scowl at him.  _Traitor…_

"So night terrors, loss of appetite… has your mind gone elsewhere?" Dr. Aurelius seems to be pussyfooting around, avoiding specific questions.

"Yes… Sometimes I blink and I'm back in Iraq, but only the bad times. Like today, I… I saw a little girl, Rue. I was cleaning a deer I'd just shot and the blood and…" my breath catches in my throat. "Can I leave? Please? I just want to go home…"

"Shortly, now… Unfortunately, it's sounding like you do have post-traumatic stress disorder, though you are still functioning very well aside from the insomnia and loss of appetite." Dr. Aurelius concludes, pulling a small pad of paper from his crisp white coat. "I'm going to start you on a small dose of Zoloft. Take one daily with food," he rips the paper and knowing better, hands it to Peeta. "Klonopin for when you're having an episode. Though with this one, don't drive or drink. It's a low dose, but until we know how it'll affect you… they're only for emergencies," he says and scribbles his signature, handing that one to Peeta as well. "Fill these as soon as possible, and pick up a pack of melatonin pills while you're at it. I don't want to load you up with too much, but they'll help with the insomnia."

He taps his chin with his pen. "I'll be by the house in two days for Peeta. We'll speak then. Go home, get a shower, and go to bed. Tomorrow will be kinder, Katniss…"

I try to believe him, but still cry the whole way home. Peeta doesn't talk to me; he seems to think I'm angry. I'm actually grateful, I think. If I'm not bad, they'll keep me around, which means I can keep my job.

* * *

"Don't go…" I say as I stand in the door of the bathroom, towels in hand. "Please, Peeta, I… I miss you."

I just stare in the shower as my fingers idly trace our matching scars. "I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable," he says quietly. "I was just so afraid…"

I stay silent for a minute before sighing again, "I know… thank you. I don't…" I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling myself flush against him. "I love you, Peeta," I say, squeezing my eyes shut. "You know I would do anything for you, even step out of my comfort zone…"

The medication makes me hyperaware of my fatigue. Before long, I'm curled up in bed with the dog, idly stroking her wrinkled face. "Someday, I'll look like you, all wrinkly." I spoon my watch dog, soaking up her warmth.

"And if you're half as beautiful as her, I'll be the luckiest man alive…" Peeta says as the bed shifts and his warm lips brush against my cheek. "Your mother's on the phone, she wants to talk to you…" I just nod and he lays the phone across my face instead of handing it to me.

"Ass…" I mumble, chuckling a little.

"I missed your laugh…"

"Katniss?" my mother asks.

"Yeah, it's me…"

"Peeta told me… I wish I could be there for you right now, but I can't take any time off." I feel my heart sinking, will she be able to come for the wedding? If she can't, then Prim can't either…

"I understand…" I whisper, tears stinging at my eyes.

"Yeah, they won't let me take two weeks off in the same month. I can't pull Prim out of school for that long either. She's so excited to see you."

I smile, kissing the dog's head, "I miss her, too. How is she?"

"Worried sick, but she's at Rory's…" I yawn a little, "I'll let you sleep, Katniss. We'll talk later once you've actually slept."

"Yes, Mother…" I say and yawn again, "Love you…"

"Love you too, and please give Peeta my thanks."

"I will…" I confirm as I hang up. If not for his doting, I would have probably just endured. Who knows, I may still need to?

"Coming to bed?" I ask Peeta over my shoulder.

"You two are taking up the whole bed," he gripes and snaps his fingers. "Phoenix, move…" The dog sighs but slowly takes her post at the bottom of the bed, circling three times before flopping down. She'll be back by morning.

Drawers open and close and before I know it, a warm body is pressed against mine. "Peeta?" I ask, lacing my fingers with the ones on the hand draped over my waist.

"Yes?"

"Please, promise me you'll stay with me no matter what?"

He kisses the back of my neck lightly. "Always," he promises.


	27. The Olive Branch

_March 2004_

It's late when I wake up, almost too late. If not for the endless buzzing of my cell phone, I probably could have slept forever. I left it on the nightstand, so I reach for it without even cracking an eye.

"Hello?" I yawn. It's still ringing, which forces me to open my tired eyes. "Wrong phone…" I mumble, setting Peeta's cell back down and grabbing my own. "Hello?" I say, but it's still buzzing. I missed the answer button.

"Hello?" I snap. Third time's the charm, but I'm still irritated by this whole dual cell phone business.

"Easy, girl! I'm not too happy to talk to you either, but… your deer's done," the voice says. I yawn and check the clock.

1100… _Oh God dammit, Peeta…_  I've never slept this late, ever.

"Thanks, Rooba. How much did you get?"

"About fifty pounds? Nice and lean, too. It's a shame; he would have been good breeding stock."

I think about fifty pounds of venison, which is far more than we can handle. "Keep some for yourself," I offer. "I only want about fifteen pounds, and definitely the loins. Please give the rest to the family. How much do I owe you?"

"I'm not taking  _your_  money," she snaps. I know she isn't saying she's doing it for free. Hell, Rooba never does anything for free; she just doesn't trust my money.

"Aunt Rooba, how much do I owe you?" I ask again.

"Nothing. I'm not taking  _your_  money."

"Then whose? Aunt Rooba, I'll give you two hundred in cash in two hours. Then it's  _your_  money for the service  _you_  performed. Stop being a stuck up bitch and accept my payment!"

There's silence at the end of the line. "Normally, it's a buck fifty for a deer that size," she says.

"Well, I'll give you two hundred because you did it with a smile," I tell her and hang up.

When I walk downstairs wearing something other than camo, the Mellark house grinds to a screeching halt. "What?" I ask, noting that my presence has magically pulled Ryan and Andrew away from their XBOX game. I nervously tug on my tight red sweater.

"Hey Peet!" Andrew shouts, turning around to finish off Ryan's character while he's not paying attention.

"You fucker!" Ryan shouts at his brother.

"What?" Peeta asks, walking into the room. Instantly, I feel a blush creep across my cheeks.

"Nothing, just letting you know your fiancée is finally awake. And you're right, she is hot," I roll my eyes at Andrew, and push past Peeta into the kitchen. His arms find my waist and when he bends back, my feet lift off the ground.

"Jeez, I can't even get coffee without being grabbed!" I exclaim. "What's going to happen when we're married?" My feet are back on the ground now, so I tilt my head back and rest it on his shoulder.

"You're on birth control, right?"

"Mhm…"

"Then I shouldn't have to tell you…" he murmurs, kissing my neck very lightly before playfully biting me. I flail out of his arms.

"So basically like DC all over again?" I ask cheekily.

I know that the other two are listening. As I pour myself a cup of coffee, I silently will Peeta to pick up on my cue and run with it. "Not quite… maybe this time you'll let  _me_  tie  _you_ up?"

I add sugar to my coffee and press myself against him. "God, I love you…" I whisper. "Don't even think about it, though. Besides, how do you expect me to tie up your legs without a footboard?"

Peeta shrugs as I chug my coffee, "We'll discuss this later. You going somewhere?"

I shrug. "My aunt is done butchering my deer, so… to the bank, then to her place. Do your folks like venison?"

Peeta sets a bowl of leftover stew in front of me. "Sure? Why do you ask?"

"Well, what are we going to do with fifty pounds of deer meat? Most of it is going to my family, so I was thinking of offering some to your mom as a peace offering? Or at least my end of it…" I spin my engagement ring around on my finger before stabbing at a fatty piece of grouse in the bowl.

* * *

"So… March twenty-sixth?" Rooba asks as I count out two hundred dollars in twenties from the ATM and hand them to her. Not much has changed in her shop over the years - it's still clean and pure white like I remember it. Most of her cases are empty, though, due to shipping delays from the recent blizzard.

"Mhm, I talked to Mom on the way here. She and Prim are flying up with the Hawthornes," I confirm. She nods a little as my words finally hit her.

"All of 'em?" she asks.

"Hazelle, Rory, Vick, and Posy for sure. I haven't heard from Gale and his girlfriend yet. It all depends on whether they can get time off."

Rooba scoffs, pushing the last of the neatly wrapped and labeled packages in my direction. "If Gale doesn't come up, who the hell is going to walk you down the aisle?"

I bite my lip, having not considered this. Who, if not my father or Gale? Who else would I trust enough to give me away…

"Prim," I say, smiling.

Rooba rolls her eyes and looks at Peeta. "Good luck, boy. Katniss has loved one person her whole life and that's little Primrose. Good luck competing with that."

Peeta pulls me closer to him and kisses the top of my head. "I don't think I need luck…"

Rooba snorts. "That's what Lily thought about Abe, God rest his soul. Poor girl would have gone grey if it wasn't for little Prim…"

"What about me?" I scoff.

She smiles and pats my shoulder with her arthritic hands. "Please, you were the worst little thing any of us ever saw, Katniss. Always scowling and coming home with toads."

Peeta looks at me approvingly. She's right - I was a little demon as a child, and here he wants to breed with me.  _Maybe they should check his head again?_

"And when you brought home that milk snake," Rooba continues.

"Momma ran from here all the way to Grandma Sae's to get Daddy because I dropped it and it slithered under the couch," I chuckle at the memory.

"But milk snakes aren't venomous," Peeta says. I nod in agreement, but I pull up my sleeve to show him a very faint scar on my wrist.

"Yeah, but those suckers will bite and not let go," he rolls his eyes at the sight. "What? I reached down to pick it up. What was I, five? Maybe six…"

"You were the worst…" he says, shaking his head.

I elbow my fiancé in reply, "And you're the one marrying me…"

* * *

I adjust my sweater for the umpteenth time.

"How are you feeling?" Peeta asks me as he parks the truck in front of his parents' house.

I bite my lip. Honestly, I'd rather go into combat right now than deal with this. I can't tell him that, though. "Anxious," I finally manage.

"Want a…"

"Peeta, I'm not going to take an 'in case of emergency pill' before meeting your mother and father for the first time. You mixed them up last night and I slept for twelve hours!"

"Yeah… you snore… a lot," he teases. I flick my nose with the end of my braid a few times.

"It was Phoenix, not me!" I conclude, reaching over with my left hand to open the door since my right is still incapacitated.

He helps me down from the truck and up the driveway, though I should be the one helping him. The snow that melted during the afternoon sun has refrozen to ice, making my heels a slipping hazard.

"You're wearing a cross," I say quietly, noticing a gold crucifix around Peeta's neck. He's  _never_  worn one before, at least not that I've ever seen.

"Well, Mom's pretty religious, and we're already living in sin in her eyes…"

"Looks like we're both trying to appease her…" I say, hugging the bundle of venison to my chest.

He rings the bell and soon enough, we hear footsteps as the door swings open.

"Peeta, Katniss, come in!" Mrs. Mellark greets me with a hug and kisses to both my cheeks. "How are you, dear?"

I try to contain my shock. This woman once cracked me in the head with a rolling pin, and now she's exchanging pleasantries with me?

"I'm well, thanks. We brought you something," I say warmly, handing her the parcel. "Venison loins and some sirloin, I believe."

She pats my cheek. "How kind of you! The boys are in the living room, would you either of you like some wine?"

"None for me, thank you," I politely refuse. My medication has a very clear warning that I should avoid alcohol. With scrutinizing eyes on me the entire night, I should probably heed it. So for tonight, I'll stick with water.

"Mom, I'll have a beer if Dad didn't drink them all while the power was out!" He rests his hand on my lower back and guides me into the living room.

"I heard a rumor that the NHL players might be going on strike," a male voice says. Peeta's father is talking to the boys and hasn't noticed our arrival. He's a stout man with next to no hair on his head. Eventually, his blue eyes find us and he smiles brightly, "Took you two long enough!"

* * *

"So the wedding is March Twenty-sixth? Why the rush?" Mrs. Mellark inquires, her eyes finding my abdomen through the table.  _No, I'm not pregnant…_  I try to tell her telepathically.

"It's the longest we could wait while still being up here," she nods at her son's words.

"Wine, dear?" she offers for the hundredth time. She's testing me.

It's late in the evening and I've already had my fill of lasagna, so one glass shouldn't hurt. "Yes, please, now that I've eaten."

Her brow furrows, but she gets up from the table and heads for the kitchen. "Thomas!" she screams. "Spider!"

In Iraq, we had these beautiful little devils called Camel Spiders, but that's not what we find when the five of us rush into the kitchen. "I was expecting a camel spider," Peeta admits, having read my mind.

I smirk, "Those things are terrible!" How do I describe an eight legged killing machine? "I found one in my boot once…"

Peeta nods as we return to the table. "I remember that. You screamed and ran from the female barracks to get Gale and I to do something about it." My face flushes with embarrassment.

"Yeah, and what did you two do? Put it in a trash can with another one to see if they'd fight to the death!" Clearly, there's NOTHING more dangerous than bored Marines.

Mrs. Mellark looks at us disapprovingly. There were some happy memories from Iraq, I guess.

"What happened?" Ryan asks with mouthful of food.

I took a sip of my wine, waiting for Peeta to explain. "Well, we didn't find another one, but… I think they were Army patrol…they took it off our hands. Apparently, the spider ate through a snake, a gecko, and was finally taken down by some ants," he finishes. Everyone looks unconvinced.

"Granted, the ants are like… this big," I hold my fingers a little over half an inch apart, "And our spider friend was about six inches long." I shudder at the thought. "Basically, I learned to stuff my boots full of socks from that point on…"

"They don't have spiders in Call of Duty…" Andrew sighs, "Or Battlefield…"

Everyone but the two video game addicts groans in response. "Can't you two think of anything but that damn game for five minutes?" Mrs. Mellark scolds before turning back to us. "Now, onto something more important, have you two talked to the Pastor about your wedding?"

"We haven't actually discussed who we want to officiate the service. We might just get a Justice of the Peace to do it…" I bite my lip, listening to Peeta.

"I think a Christian wedding would be… nice," I tell them quietly, even though I'm not convinced. "Can they be performed outside of churches?"

Mrs. Mellark smiles at me. "Oh yes, you and I could meet with Pastor Michael tomorrow."

There are certain times when I stop thinking. The first is when I'm taking a shot with my rifle, and the second is agreeing to meet with my future mother-in-law's pastor.

I smile back, "That sounds great."

_What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

Peeta is nervous about leaving me alone with his mother, especially in a church.

"Thank you again for the venison, Katniss. I have some soaking in milk for a stew," she tells me. Soaking deer meat in milk is an old trick used to make it taste more like beef. Since we could barely afford to feed ourselves after Dad died, our family learned to love the gamey taste of venison.

_Would Peeta dislike something like this? Would he even like my cooking?_

"You seem bothered, Katniss. Is it cold feet?" she asks.

I bite my lip. "No, I'm just worried that your son won't like my cooking," I admit.

"Oh, I almost forgot…I got you something," she chirps, handing me a small white box from the car's cup holder. I open it and find a small, silver cross inside.

"This is beautiful," I say in response to her gift. "Thank you, Mrs. Mellark. " She smiles and drives further in town as I put on the necklace.

"Please," she says. "Call me Mom, or Lisa." I nod.

Peeta and I want our wedding ceremony to be small. The Everdeens, the Hawthornes, the Mellarks and our immediate family are invited, no one outside cousins. My mother's parents had long since died, and she was their only child.

Once made, our list had a comfortable thirty or so people on it. Bristel talked us into hiring both a caterer and a DJ. Suddenly, our simple Justice of the Peace wedding is turning into something a little more… real.

"Pastor Michael, this is my future daughter-in-law, Katniss," Mrs. Mellark says, introducing us. "She and my youngest are getting married in a few weeks and they want to know if you would be willing to officiate the ceremony?"

I shake the older man's hand. "Katniss… Everdeen?" he asks curiously, still not letting go of my hand.

"Yes, sir."

His old eyes light up. "Ah yes, I performed the service at your mother and father's wedding, and christened both you and Primrose as well."

_I never had a First Communion or went through Confirmation. Can I get married in the church without those?_

"It's on the twenty sixth… will that date work for you?" Mrs. Mellark asks.

I don't want to make any other decisions without Peeta, so Pastor Michael agrees to come by the house later. This is great, since I know nothing about being a Christian, let alone a good one. I politely excuse myself for a moment, stepping outside for a breath of fresh air.

"Katniss?" a female voice grabs my attention, causing me to whirl around on the icy sidewalk. "Oh my gosh, it really  _is_  you!"

A blur of blonde curls and tightly hugging arms latches onto me. "Oh gosh, you're still hard as a rock!"

It's Madge Undersee, using her usual phrase for saying I'm muscular. "Yeah, I'm still the same me, just a few more scars. How are you?"

She shrugs, "I'm working as a paralegal up in Scranton until I can go to law school in the fall," she says, brushing my black hair from my forehead. "Where'd you get this nasty thing?" she asks bluntly, referring to the scar on my forehead.

I bite my lip, "A building fell on me. You should see the ones I have on my thigh and arm."

Her face fell. "Oh Katniss!" she squeals, hugging me again. "But you're home now! You're safe!"

_Yeah, I'm home now. But if I'm not as crazy as they think, I'll be going back…_

"As safe as I can be in Nanticoke," I laugh.

It's rare for someone born here to leave. Peeta, Gale and I are the only few who haven't actually returned for good. Most of the people in our graduating class will likely return someday.

"Oh!" I gasp, "I'm getting married on the twenty-sixth! You should come!"

Her face falls. "You? Katniss Everdeen? Getting  _married_?"

I smile and nod, "Yeah…" Mrs. Mellark is still inside the church with the pastor. "To Peeta Mellark. We were stationed together in Iraq and well… one thing led to another," I say, pulling my coat tighter around me.

"Are you pregnant?" she asks quietly.

"No! Why does _everyone_  think I'm pregnant?"

"Well, first, because you're you. And two, because you said 'one thing led to another,'" she squeals and hugs me again. "Gah! I'm so glad I forced you into going to prom senior year!"

Madge and I agree to go out for cocktails closer to the wedding, which will be even more fun if Gale and Johanna can make it.

* * *

_March 24, 2004_

Two days. In two days, I can kiss Katniss Everdeen goodbye. I will forever be Katniss Mellark until the day I die. Well, once we get to North Carolina and I file for my address and name change, that is…

But my  _Mellark_  name tags came in yesterday.

"We're going to have so much paperwork once we get to Lejeune…" I grumble, sewing my soon-to-be surname onto my fatigues.

I'm checking the clock every few minutes. My mother and the Hawthornes landed two hours ago. They flew into Harrisburg and are making the driving up. Needless to say, I'm working myself up into a full blown panic attack.

Peeta has been offering me Klonopin every few minutes.

"You look like my adorable little wife," he grins, shifting so his head rests in my lap. "Sewing my name onto camo…"

"Sewing my new name on  _my_  camo…" I correct him. "I'll never be a 'little wife', but I'll be  _your_ wife."

One thing I've learned about having PTSD is that I have the mood swings of a pregnant woman with bipolar disorder.

"And that's precisely why we kept the 'obey' out of our vows," he chuckles.

I toss the coat to the side and run my fingers through Peeta's blond curls. "Also because I outrank you, sir," He sticks his tongue out and grabs my arms. I'm not sure how it happens, but soon we're on the ground, him on top of me. His weight is resting on his elbows as our tongues wrestle together.

"And this is why we have a pool going on how long it'll take for them to have a kid!"  _I know that voice…_

Peeta jerks up from me. "Johanna!" he exclaims. "I was afraid you two couldn't come!"

I pick myself up off the ground and envelop her in a hug. "Wait… a pool?"

She nods. "Gale and I were debating on whether it'll be nine months from the wedding, or when your contract is up…"

"What did you settle on?" I ask.

"That's for us to know, and you never to find out…" she retorts.

"Come on, it's cold out here," Gale says, pushing us inside. I roll my eyes, since it's unseasonably warm for the mountains this time of year.

"Watch out! Pregnant woman coming through!" I stand on my toes and look over Gale's shoulder to see Major Odair and Annie, who is now heavily pregnant with his child.

"Oh my God…" I gasp, "They're… But how?"

"Annie cried for two days that she was going to miss it," he explains. "Then two more when Abernathy said he couldn't come." She slaps Finnick lightly on the arm. "What?"

"It's true…" she blushes.

"Where's Mom and Prim?" I ask.

"Down at Sae's," Gale tells me. "Which is where we've been instructed to bring you for your 'pre-wedding' party."

"Don't you mean rehearsal dinner?" Peeta asks. He and Gale shake hands, then pull in to pat each other on their backs.

"Listen man, you're about to marry into this family. It'll never be a proper rehearsal dinner."

* * *

This is the first time that Peeta and I will see the wedding venue all done up. We gave Bristel my credit card and told her to have at it… and to our surprise, she did well.

It's a traditional Pennsylvania barn - a faded brick red structure supported by natural rock. When Sae could no longer care for her horses financially, she had cement laid down and allows it to be used as a flea market for the Seam on Saturdays.

Small, round string lights are hung all around, giving the high celling a night sky look. "It's beautiful…" I gasp, walking down the small aisle to where Peeta and I will exchange our vows. We asked for a tasteful arch, and got more than what we bargained for.

The arch itself is made of long needled pine branches with silky white ribbon wrapped around each limb. There are more lights around it, making the entire space glow. "Whatever we're paying her, we're doubling it…" Peeta murmurs, brushing his fingers against the pine needles.

"She's doing it for free…" I whisper, as the heavy door creaks open. I turn slightly to see our visitor.

"Katniss!" Prim and I have always been fast runners, so she's on me in a second. "I missed you!"

I can't help but hold my eighteen year old sister close to me. "I missed you, too, little duck! I'm so glad you could be here. Where's Mom?"

"Crying, of course. Mom's a wreck!" she huffs. "Peeta's parents just got here, and everyone wants you to show them your dress."

"Everyone's already seen my dress, Prim. Mom and Grandma wore it." I remind her while looking back at Peeta. I just want to stay in here and imagine what will be happening in forty eight hours.

"Kat, go show off for the women," Peeta insists, kissing my cheek. "And good to see you again, Prim."

When Prim said Mom was a wreck, she couldn't have been more wrong. My mother can barely hold herself together. Between the shock of her child coming home from war, my getting married in the same dress she wore, on top of the fact that my father won't be here with us, she can barely string two words together. This woman  _needs_  Klonopin. Fortunately for me, I've been too stressed over the last month to have any actual attacks.

"You're so beautiful…" Mom finally sighs as I twirl on my toes, the silk and tulle overlay of the skirt fanning out. It's a simple dress with a tank-top like neckline, covered by a see-through tulle overlay that creates the illusion of a V-neck. I fiddle with the buttons at my breasts, which are tiny and covered in white silk. There are five of them at the base of the 'V', ending at a thick silk strap located right under the bust line.

"Am I doing it justice?" I ask. Mom bites her lip and nods, holding back tears. I look around the room. Lisa and my mother are actually sitting together. It turns out that Peeta's father and my mother were best friends up until high school. Had it not been for Lisa getting pregnant with Andrew, my Mom and Thomas Mellark would probably be married today.

Grandma Sae, Aunt Ripper, Aunt Rooba and Bristel keep fussing over how all the Everdeen women have worn this dress and never once has it needed to be altered. Annie's crying at this point. "I'm sorry!" she blubbers, "It's the stupid baby!" She clutches her stomach comically, "Don't tell Daddy I said that!"

"You should get changed, dear, the rehearsal is about to start," Sae says.

I need to decide who will be walking me down the aisle. It was the first question Pastor Michael asked during our meeting.  _Gale, Mom, or Prim…?_

I hold my hand out to my mother. "Momma, growing up you and I were never particularly close," I begin. "A lot of that had to do with Daddy, who can't be here to give me away at my wedding…" She takes my hand as I continue. "Please, I can't think of anyone else who deserves to walk me down the aisle more than you. No offense, Prim, Gale."

My mother hugs me and we walk down the aisle together. "Here, I will start with the Call to Worship," Pastor Michael explains. "I'll ask who gives Katniss to Peeta. She will take his hand," he says and I mirror what I'll be doing in two days from now perfectly. I want it to be real, even now in my jeans, Carhartt jacket and muddy boots. "After that, we'll move on to the candle lighting for the parents and grandparents who can't be here."

"Oh! We have a picture of Daddy!" Prim exclaims.

The pastor smiles and I squeeze Peeta's hands. Real, this is all real - not a fancy fabrication of my mind. On Friday, at seventeen hundred, I'll be marrying Peeta Mellark.

* * *

"Girl, you feel like singing?" Waterfall asks, strumming on his guitar. The bonfire rages and I snuggle deeper into the quilt Peeta and I are cuddling under. Every so often, his hand plays with the waistband of my pants.

"You know what, Waterfall? I do."

Peeta looks up at me, shocked. Even he hasn't heard me sing in ages.

Everyone goes quiet as the crooning of the old guitar fills the evening air. I'm already three beers in and at my limit now, so I only half care how my voice sounds.

"Aw come on, don't play  _that_  song before my wedding…"

The Hawthorne boys run with it anyways, "I caught my wife with another man, and it cost me ninety nine. On a prison farm in Georgia, close to the Florida line… Well I'd been here for two long years, I finally made the warden my friend. And so he sentenced me to a life of ease, taking care of Ol' Red…"

Waterfall's hunting dog perks up and I sort of fade out until the chorus, when all the men cut out and let me sing, "And the warden sang, Come on somebody why don't you run? Ol' Red's itchin' to have a little fun… Get my lantern, get my gun. Red'll have you treed before the mornin' comes…"

Sometimes I try to pretend I'm not a redneck. But with a belly full of homemade venison stew and my family's anthem being sung, I can't help but accept that I am indeed a mountain girl at heart.

"Eh, you're okay… For a city girl, that is," Waterfall smirks. _Great, I still haven't earned that ring._

I stand up from the blanket, "I have a wager, Waterfall." Everyone stares at me as I continue, "I want to bet that I can hide from Red for two hours." He smirks as I take his rifle and remove the ammo. "If Red trees me, I'll be a city girl for life." I point the rifle safely up so that no one is in danger when I clear the barrel. "If I catch you guys, or last the full two hours… you know what I want." I finish, and his old eyes smile.

"Girl, you've gotta be kidding me. Red here could sniff your trail  _years_ after you left."

"Waterfall," I shake my head, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're scared. You going to take my wager or not?"

"I'll give you a half hour head start," he says. "I want this to be fun…"

I shrug off my coat and give Peeta a kiss. "What are you doing?" he whispers. "Trust me," I whisper back, "Though I may need to be hosed off after I'm done."

The air is warm tonight, the ground soft and muddy. I need to cover my scent as quickly as possible. I have two options - roll around in the mud and take a dip in the creek, or strip down and leave my clothes for Red to find.  _It's warm enough to strip, right?_

The first thing to go is my hoodie. I drag the sleeves on the ground, stirring the leaves and leaving my scent before tossing it up into the branches of the pine I shot my first squirrel from. I know these woods like the back of my hand. Once I'm down to my boots, my boy shorts and a tank top, I can only hope it will distract the dog for long enough. I run my scent trail along the river before taking off my boots and crossing the creek. The water bites my skin, still frigid from the winter. I must admit, this is probably the most exhilarating thing I've done since coming home from Iraq.

I love the rush I'm feeling, even if it is only a game. I whistle loudly, trying to lure the dog. It's a four note call my father taught me that the mockingbirds would carry through the woods.

I walk through the mud pantless before heading back to the side I originally came from, towards the light of the bonfire.

The dog is barking, already on the hunt when I climb up into a large pine and wait.

I tap my finger on my thigh, keeping a rough estimate of the time.  _Forty five minutes…_  my legs are almost numb when I hear the echo of a snapping twig.

"These your pants, Kat?" His question echoes through the trees. Waterfall's nowhere near me… and moving farther away.

I keep up my tapping until I hit the hour and fifteen minute mark.  _I can do it… I can do it…_

I don't hear a thing – no barking, no footsteps, nothing. Then, all of a sudden, the thundering sound of paws and boots crash through the woods towards my position.

 _Shit…_ I clutch the rifle to my chest, refusing to even breathe.

"Where is she, boy? We got her pants, her shirts…" But I'm not treed. They walk right beneath me, closer to the fire. "There is no way she went back to everyone without her pants…" Waterfall's voice becomes faint as I slowly lower myself from the tree. I silently slip to the ground and creep after them.

"Hands in the air!" I command, in the most authoritative drill sergeant voice I can muster. "Looks like Red's lost his touch…"

I grab my shirt and pants from Waterfall and pull them back on, proud of myself despite the fact that I'm absolutely freezing. "You win. Check your pockets," he says. I dig my numb fingers into my pants and pull out a gold band with three diamonds.

"Say it, Waterfall. I wanna hear it," I smirk as we walk back together. I try to hide my shivering, but between the lack of clothes and the cold water, I need both the fire and my fiancé.

"You're not a city girl, you still have the mountains in you…" he concedes.

"And your dog is getting rusty…"

I toss the rifle over my shoulder as we near the fire. "So who won?" someone asks as I flop down next to Peeta, clutching him for warmth in a restrained manner so as not to offend anyone.

"The bride…though maybe you should tell them how?"

I nervously bite my lip. Peeta holds me close as I begin speaking, the warmth of the fire slowly heating me through. "I may have used items on my person with my scent to lure Red off my trail. Then I hid up in a tree."

"In her underwear," Waterfall adds.

"Yes, in my underwear. Thank you, Waterfall." I can't bring myself to meet Lisa Mellark's eyes.

Finnick is enjoying himself a little too much. He approaches Peeta from behind and grabs his shoulders, "Remember just how prim and proper Katniss was in Iraq?" I duck under the blanket.

"Oh my god! Finnick Odair, our parents are right here. Could you  _please_  not embarrass us!" I squeal from under the blanket.

"Is that an order?" he asks, hands tickling me from under the blanket.

"Yes! I don't care if you outrank me, Major! It's my wedding!" I feel like I'm entitled to at least one bridezilla moment.

* * *

_March 25, 2004_

Twenty four hours. In twenty-four hours, I'll be married.

"A year ago today, I found out I was being deployed," I tell my friends as I tip my beer to my lips. "Three hundred and sixty five days ago exactly. And if you told me we would be here today, I would have laughed in your faces."

"You didn't even know two of our faces," Johanna smirks, hailing the bartender and ordering three Red Headed Sluts. "And a water for preggo over here!"

Annie rubs her stomach, "Aw, thank you, Auntie Jo…"

Madge seems uncomfortable at my mini bachelorette party, which consists of a cocktail hour at a local bar before I headed to Sae's to stay with my Mom and Prim instead of sharing a bed with my future husband.

 _God forbid we have any more pre-marital sex._  When we set the date for the wedding, Peeta and I agreed to stop living in sin and wait for our wedding night. Naturally, we both caught each other mastering our domains.

"So you knew Katniss in high school?" Annie asks Madge, positioning her barstool to be comfortable.

"Yeah," she says as the shots arrive. We hold up our glasses for a toast. "To Katniss," Madge says, smiling, "For learning that it's alright to let someone in, to lean on them, and invite them into your heart and soul." We clink our glasses together.

"Salud!" Johanna nearly shouts as I take a drink.

"That was beautiful," Annie sniffs. If this is how women act when pregnant, Peeta and I will be parenting a lot of fur children.

"Now come on! Last night of being single, part two!" Johanna barks.

"No strippers!" I shout as they push me from the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I also don't own the lyrics to "Ol' Red", but Blake Shelton does.


	28. To Have and to Hold

_March 26, 2004_

I buckle the strap of my white Mary-Jane's. "Aw, Momma, are you going to cry all day?" Prim asks. "You need to do Katniss' hair."

Mom blots her eyes for the hundredth time and begins brushing out my long black hair before taking a good portion of it. "I always dreamed you'd wear your hair like this to your wedding," she murmurs, brushing it down to tease it before pinning some back, giving me a small bump in the back. I notice a clump of hair has fallen down across my shoulders, which she braids like an expert. "Primrose," she asks, "Another pin, please?" The three of us have been left alone to get me ready, no one daring to steal a minute of this from my mother. Prim happily snaps pictures, wanting proof of me in a wedding dress.

My mother wraps one braid across my head and the other in the opposite direction, giving me a headband of woven hair. "There…" she says as I check my reflection. I'm not sure I look like a bride, but I do feel like one.

There's a knock on the door. "Come in…" I call, checking my make-up for the umpteenth time.

Lisa Mellark pokes her head in. "Could I have five minutes with the bride?" I look between my Mom and Prim for permission.

"Sure, I need to fix my face anyway…" my mother sniffs as she and Prim step out.

I watch as Lisa sits across from me in the tiny bedroom that has been converted into my dressing room. "I want to… apologize," she begins. I nod slowly, not willing to interrupt her. "For striking you as a child, and for my behavior just after your arrival," she sighs. "I won't make excuses, Katniss, but today you join my family… and I refuse to have any bad blood between us."

I take her hand and smile, "Thank you, Mom." She smiles back and pulls me in for a hug.

"If it means anything to you, I'm not sure anyone in the world can make my son as happy as you do…" she says softly as I hug her back.

"I'm sure you're right…"

I watch the woman who will become my mother-in-law in just over an hour leave the room. I fully expect Mom and Prim to return but when the door opens, Gale walks in, buttoning up his black jacket.

"Are you here for your treasure?" I tease, but my face softens when I see the tears in his eyes. "Oh, Gale…"

"You… you look like a girl…" he says.

I stand, placing my hands on my hips. "Is that your way of saying I look nice, Gale Hawthorne?"

I reach for the jacket I wore over here and pull out the small box containing the ring Waterfall gave me two nights ago. "So when are you giving it to her?"

He shrugs, swiping the box from my hand. "Probably our anniversary in October," he confirms, putting it in his pants pocket. "You know… when we were in high school, I was sure I'd be giving this to you someday…" he sighs.

I roll my eyes and straighten out his jacket and medals for him. "Please. We tried that and as you know, it worked out  _really_  bad…"

He just shrugs, "It wasn't all bad…" he grumbles.

"No, but… it was awkward…" He still has that down puppy dog look on his face. "Gale, I'm walking down the aisle in twenty minutes and getting married. You were my first love, but it wasn't romantic love. I trust you with my life, but other people own our hearts," I tell him, slightly miffed.

"I know, and Jo's a much better kisser than you," he teases. All of the tension from a moment ago is gone. "Does Peeta know about us?" he asks.

I bite my lip and look away, "He knows we dated… He doesn't know all the other stuff…"

Gale rolls his eyes. "I should probably go find Jo. I left her alone with Annie…"

I could only blink. "Yes, leave outspoken Johanna with a heavily pregnant Annie."

He reaches forward and brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Hey, Annie's deceptively shy. Trust me."

I turn him around and push him out of the room. "If anything, do it for the baby!" I joke, slipping a little on my heels.

"Yeah… yeah…" I close the door behind him and exhale.

"Just a few more minutes…" I whisper to myself.

Mom and Prim return, giving me one last fluff before everyone scrambles into position. I run through the game plan over and over in my head as I pace, anxious for everything to start.

"Here we go…" my mother whispers, locking arms with me. "Ready?"

"I should be asking you that… Can you do this?" I ask, brushing back some of her greying hair. I watch as Ryan and Andrew, Peeta's best men, escort my Maid of Honor, Prim, down the aisle.

"All rise for the bride," I hear as my mother's breath catches.  _Here we go…_

We round the partition, the faces of my loved ones smiling, wiping tears, and staring shocked as my mother walks me to my groom. There are more dress blues here than I was prepared for, everyone but Annie donning the well-pressed uniform I originally wanted to be in.

This, of course, means that several people are likely in possession of sabers right now. Finally, my eyes meet Peeta's and my breathing stops. I've never seen such a loving look in my life, and it's all for me.

Halfway down the aisle, my mother stops, hunches over and lets out a single sob. "Oh, Abraham…" she cries. I hear footsteps, and a strong arm quickly wraps around my mother.

"He's here with us, Lilly," Gale whispers to her as Prim's arm links with mine. "Every second of every day, they're both with us…" I know he's referring to his own father, the man who died with mine.

Together, the four of us continue down the aisle, finally reaching the arch where Peeta waits for me.

The bridal march cuts out and Pastor Michael begins speaking. "Dearly beloved, with great affection for Peeta and Katniss, we have gathered together to witness and bless their union in marriage. To this sacred moment, they bring the fullness of their hearts as a treasure and a gift from God to share with one another. They bring the dreams which bind them together in an eternal commitment. They bring their gifts and talents, their unique personalities and spirits, which God will unite together into one being as they build their life together. We rejoice with them, in thankfulness to the Lord for creating this union of hearts built on friendship, respect and love," Pastor Michael clears his throat. "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"

My mother's mouth opens, but nothing comes out for a second. "Her mother, Lillian Everdeen, and her father, Abraham Everdeen," she says, loud and clear.

"And her sister, Primrose Everdeen."

"And her brother, Gale Hawthorne."

Peeta takes my hand and helps me to the altar as my mother, Prim and Gale find their seats.

"Within each human being burns the spark of the Divine. When two people love one another with devotion and freedom, they kindle the awareness of that spark in each other. Take into your beings the warmth, radiance and light that the divine flame represents. Let it light your way on the journey of life that you are about to embark on." My eyes begin watering as I lean into Peeta.

"In committing to one another today, in the spirit of being born new to one another, you kindle each other's divine light and promise always to see that light in one another; to nurture and tend that divine flame in your partner as best you can each day, especially when it may be hardest for you to see, or when your partner doubts or forgets the existence of that light within him or herself." I hear a sniff, and look up to see a single tear running down Peeta's cheek.

"Katniss," Pastor Michael instructs, "Take this candle now and symbolically enter the sacred trust to honor the divine spark in Peeta," I release Peeta's hand and grasp the candle in both of mine, "By lighting it from the candle representing the Divine Source." I tilt the candle in and hold my breath until the wick lights.

"Peeta, take this candle now and symbolically enter the sacred trust to honor the divine spark in Katniss, by lighting it from the candle representing the Divine Source." Peeta tilts his candle and does the same.

Together, we walk to the side where a single, unlit candle rests next to two pictures of people who should still walk this earth but were taken from us. My father smiles in his dress blues in the first one. The second is of Rue, posing for a picture with Peeta and I dressed in full combat gear. "If, at this time, you wish to affirm your free choice to unite as partners in marriage, please light the unlit candle together now," Pastor Michael says. We tilt our candles into the unlit one, the fires becoming one as the final candle lights. "As you bring your individual flames together to symbolically form the new and greater flame of your marriage, never forget that the light of your union is made up of your unique, individual expressions of light and is continually sustained and renewed by your connection to the Divine Spark, the eternal light of God."

The pastor escorts us back to the altar once we place our candles back into the silver candelabra, then continues with the ceremony. "The candle you lit together symbolizes your marriage, your willingness to surrender to something greater than yourselves. Katniss and Peeta, may the light of your marriage be a beacon in the night, a safe harbor from the storms of life. May your future be made infinitely brighter by the light and the love that you share."

Peeta and I are the only ones on our knees for the prayer, everyone else just bows their heads. The wood bites at my knees as I assume the proper prayer position, head bowed, hands clasped.

"Hand in hand, we come before you, O Lord. Hand in hand, we are stepping out in faith. We, who are gathered here, ask that you would take this couple into your hands. Help them, O Lord, to keep firm in the commitments they have just made. Guide them, O God, as they become a family, as they each change through the years. May they be flexible as they are faithful. And Lord, help us all to be your hands if there be need. Strengthen tenderly all of our commitments, through Jesus Christ, our Lord," I let my hand drop from the clasped position to find Peeta's, and our fingers lace. "Amen," the pastor finishes.

"Amen," we all echo as Peeta helps me to my feet.

When I learned about Christian weddings, it took Peeta and I hours to decide on a 'charge', whatever that was. The one I originally liked told Peeta to honor me. Then I kept reading and got to the part where it told me to create a home for him.  _How about we both protect and honor one another? How about that?_

"Hand in hand you enter marriage, hand in hand you step out in faith. The hand you freely give to each other is both the strongest and most tender part of your body. In the years ahead, you will need both strength and tenderness. Be firm in your commitment. Don't let your grip become weak. And yet, be flexible as you go through change. Don't let your hold become intolerable. Strength and tenderness, firm commitment and flexibility, from these a marriage is made, hand in hand." I reach my hand up to blot the tears freely falling from my eyes and lean into my very soon-to-be husband.

"Also remember that you do not walk this path alone. Be not afraid to reach out to others when together you face difficulty. Other hands are there: friends, family, and the church. To accept an outreached hand is not an admission of failure, but an act of faith. For behind us, underneath us, around us all, are the outstretched arms of the Lord. It is into His hand, the hands of God in Jesus Christ, that, above all else, we commit this union of husband and wife. Amen."

"Amen."

We face the pastor, our hands now joined. "Katniss and Peeta, you have made a very serious and important decision in choosing to marry each other today. You are entering into a sacred covenant as life partners in God. The quality of your marriage will reflect what you put into nurturing this relationship. You have the opportunity to go forward from this day to create a faithful, kind, and tender relationship. We bless you this day. It is up to you to keep the blessings flowing each and every day of your lives together. We wish for you the wisdom, compassion, and constancy to create a peaceful sanctuary in which you can both grow in love."

Pastor Michael turns to address Peeta. "Peeta, do you understand and accept this responsibility, and do you promise to do your very best each day to create a loving, healthy, and happy marriage?"

I look up at him and smile. His eyes are rimmed red and when he finally speaks, his voice cracks, "I do."

The pastor turns his attention to me. "Katniss, do you understand and accept this responsibility, and do you promise to do your very best each day to create a loving, healthy, and happy marriage?"

"I do," I say and smile, while squeezing Peeta's hand.

We turn and face each other. The pale yellow light of the hundreds of tiny bulbs above our heads almost make Peeta glow. Though he clearly needs a haircut, he's perfect. If I had a million chances to change my life, I would throw them all away if it meant I couldn't be standing here today with this man.

The pastor instructs Peeta to repeat the vows after him. "I, Peeta Mellark, take you, Katniss Everdeen, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, from this day forward until death do us part…"

I follow suit with my own vows. "I, Katniss Everdeen, take you, Peeta Mellark, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, from this day forward until death do us part…" He squeezes my hand.

Prim hands the pastor our rings, and he gives the larger one to me. "Katniss," he says and I blink, realizing I had frozen a little.

"Sorry," I blush before clearing my throat. "Peeta, I give you this ring, as a promise and a reminder of our vows. I may never be a quiet, obedient wife, but I will always be your wife," I slip the ring on his finger, a delicate and plain gold band.

"Katniss," Peeta begins, "There is no end to a circle, just as there is no end to my love for you. I give you this ring as a reminder of the vows we have just exchanged, and as a promise that no matter what I will protect and honor you as long as I live." He slips the ring onto my finger.

This is it… we've done it. I'm no longer Katniss Everdeen. Now, until the day I die, I'm Katniss Mellark.

"By the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania and our dear Lord, I now pronounce you man and wife. Peeta, you may kiss your bride," Pastor Michael announces. Peeta's lips are nervous on mine at first with everyone watching us. But soon enough, all the passion and desire pent up over the last month pours into this single kiss, just as it had when I first landed in Philadelphia.

My arms drape over his shoulders as his hands find my cheeks, deepening the kiss. Finally, we have to surface for air. "I love you…" I whisper.

"And I love you…" he whispers back, hugging me tightly. "Mrs. Mellark."

"Oh please, Mrs. Mellark is my mother-in-law. Call me Katniss…" I say in his ear as our friends and family start applauding.

My cheeks burn from smiling in all the pictures, but we're finally seated for dinner. Finnick introduces my family to a lovely tradition where the guests bang on their glasses, demanding that the couple kiss. Most people are nice about this, waiting until we we're done eating, or not talking to someone.

Finnick and Gale, however, wait until our mouths are full - every single time.

"I'm going to kill them," Peeta says through his teeth.

"Which one? Major Odair is going to be a Dad soon." I push back some of his blond curls and kiss him lightly. "We'll go for Gale instead."

A month is a long time to wait for sex. Every touch, every smile, every one of his kisses sets me on fire again. All I could think of during dinner and leading into our first dance, the song we danced to at prom almost six years ago, was getting my husband naked.

As our song ends, we do something we never had the courage to do as eighteen year olds about to sign our lives away to the Marines. Peeta tilts my chin up and ever so chastely brushes his lips against mine.

This, of course, makes me want to rip his dress blues off even more.

I'm barely paying attention to my own reception. "You seem all hot and bothered," Finnick teases, cutting into my dance with one of Gale's cousins.

I look over his shoulder as Rory Hawthorne twirls my sister. "Sorry, busy watching young love…" I grin, trying to evade this talk.

"So, when's the baby due? When are you planning to have kids? Waiting for your-" I move my hand up to cover Finnick's mouth.

"Stop… Just stop. My husband and I will discuss having children when we're ready."

He cocks an eyebrow. "I'd rather just let it happen. Look at how happy Annie is, that is, when she's not crying her eyes out or yelling at me."

"Letting it happen was a good plan for you and her," I nod as Finnick spins me. "In case you haven't realized, the mortality rate for snipers is only going up in Iraq and Afghanistan."

"You're so grown up. Where did the little girl who yelled at the big bad General go?"

I roll my eyes, "She's still here, she'll be back at Lejeune… or if my officer candidacy is approved, Quantico."

"I know nothing," he tells me in a fake Russian accent. "But I should go and help my girlfriend. She's kind of like a turtle. Once on her back, she can't get back up without a little help." It's either a terribly mean joke… or extremely perverted. With Finnick, you never know.

Two arms hug me from behind, "What did Major Odair ask about?"

"Our deepest secret… when we plan to multiply," I say, rolling my eyes while he kisses the back of my head.

"Yeah, everyone wants to know…"

I smile as we sway to the music, "Three years, at least…" I mutter. "Add nine months, a few months of practice… And who knows if we'll even want kids?" I ask idly before Peeta spins me around.

"You're going to make a great Mom someday…"

Our final posed picture has Peeta and I holding his saber, cutting the bottom tier of the cake his father made for us. It's beautiful - three tiers with little pearls of icing around the bottom of each layer, and a dark blue band around the edges.

It's so plain, but still so gorgeous. "It wasn't easy getting the cake topper with a female Marine…" Thomas explains. I smile and look at the tiny figures in their dress blues. "Well, two Marines…" The saber sinks into the fondant covered confection and when we withdraw it, the delicate blade is covered in the red velvet cake I practically begged for. Someone offers a rag, but instead I run my fingers along the blade, collecting the icing and cake bits.

"Lady like, as always," Peeta scoffs as he watches me.

"Mmm," I moan as I lick my fingers, "So good…"

"Well," Peeta chuckles a little, "Yeah…"

"Shame you were too busy to make it," I nudge him.

"Oh, that was mean!" He takes the small piece we've cut. Instead of popping it into my mouth nicely, he smashes it right below my nose. He spreads his fingers, pushing the cake to my cheeks.

"Peeta!" I stand there, dumbfounded for a good few seconds before I return the favor.

"Always playing with your food…" he teases, leaning in to kiss my messy face. Our guests start to disappear, our friends and family all gone. All that's left here is this one kiss between me and my husband.

"Get a room…" someone sighs, causing Peeta and I to jerk away.

"I love you, Mr. Mellark…" I whisper after we break apart and he begins wiping my face clean.

"And I love you, Mrs. Mellark, even if you are the messiest eater I've ever met…"

* * *

Peeta and I can't get away from our reception fast enough. When we pull into the drive of his brother's house, my underwear is already off, as I've been both teasing him and myself the entire ride home.

Phoenix and the boys are staying at their parents', giving Peeta and I the entire house to consummate our marriage in. Once the deadbolt clicks into place, I'm pressed against the door. If DC taught me anything, it's how to get Peeta out of his dress blues. His belt and saber fall to the ground with a thud and I'm on the buttons immediately. "So many…" I grumble as my one zipper slides down. I start wishing I'd worn more complicated underwear instead of the simple white lace bra and panty set Johanna and Gale gave me, though I strongly doubt Gale was in on the gift.

The silk and tulle fall to the ground in a heap. I blush at his hungry gaze, crossing my arms over my chest and one leg over the other as Peeta finishes undressing. "Now you're shy…" he sighs, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me to the couch.

"I'm sorry! This underwear makes me feel ridiculous, you can see right through it…"

"Guess we'll just have to take it off…" he says huskily. I lean forward as his well-trained fingers unhook the lace contraption and toss it aside.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" His lips slam into mine as he pulls me to him. I straddle his legs, running my fingers through his hair as my tongue slips past his lips.

His hungry erection presses at my core. Without thinking, my hips buck a little, causing a moan to vibrate from deep within his chest into my mouth.

I pull away, "Are we really going to do this here?" I ask quietly.

"Do you want to move? We can, we always have the bed, the shower, the kitchen table…"

I cock an eyebrow at the last one before getting off him, hooking my thumbs in his underwear and jerking them down. "How about here, and all of those? Especially the kitchen table."

"Come here…" he growls, pulling me back on top of him. Everything about this first time is hungry and rushed, our self-imposed one month dry spell not allowing for the romance and foreplay one would normally expect on their wedding night.

But as I lower myself onto him, the only noise in the home is my yelp echoing through the vacant space. I know we don't need the warm up. The few preceding hours were all foreplay - each playful rub of a thigh, his fingers brushing my back every so often. "I love you so much…" I whisper, giving myself a few seconds to adjust to the sensation we have willingly gone without for a month.

"I love you more…" he teases, grinding his hips into mine. My yelp would normally make the dog come running to 'protect' me, but in the empty house I'm free to moan or even scream to my heart's content.

Somewhere between me sucking and biting on his neck and his nails digging into the flesh of my backside, I feel myself tear apart at the seams, my pent up sexual frustration bubbling to the surface in an all-consuming orgasm. He pulls me close as every muscle in my body tenses, and every nerve fires.

When I come back to the world, I still feel him hard within me. Guess it would have been too cheesy for us to climax together. I somehow will my jelly legs to push my body up and down on top of him while he buries his face in the crook of my neck. Our sweaty bodies rub together as I milk him for every last drop of his seed.

We stay like that, him still inside me, as our tongues wrestle in our mouths before I pull away and get off him. "Where are you going?" he asks as I head for the stairs. "You gave me three more options, I figure we'll work our way back down here. I'm taking you up on dirtying that kitchen table…" I run up the stairs, laughing as I hear him scramble up to follow me.

At some point, we curl up together on the floor of the living room wrapped in a throw. "You're so perfect…" Peeta whispers, clutching me tight to his chest as sleep threatens to take me from him. The sky outside is a pale purple, the night quickly giving way to day.

"I think you have me mixed up with some other girl, Mr. Mellark…" I yawn, throwing my leg over his to soak up more of his warmth.

"I beg to differ, Mrs. Mellark…."

* * *

_March 28, 2004_

"Are you sure this is everything?" I ask, positioning the last box in the bed of the truck and help to affix the tarp covering the cardboard boxes.

"Everything I own in the world," my husband says, helping me down from the tailgate. Our lips, like magnets, find each other as I'm pressed against the cool metal of the truck.

"Ahem!" I hear from behind and blush as my mother-in-law looks at us with a scrutinizing gaze. "We just came by to say goodbye," I say, hugging my in-laws.

Ten hours, four states. Peeta and I plan to drive in shifts, only stopping for gas and to let the dog out. He hugs his mother, and I see her whisper something in his ear. "I always do, Mom. We'll call when we get there," he says and she kisses his cheek."I'll let you know about Christmas."

She nods and turns her attention to me. "You, the next time I see you, I want you to be carrying my grandbaby," she laughs, patting my cheek.

"Your grandbaby is in the back of the truck, Mom," I look over my shoulder at the dog, whose nose is pressed up against the glass. "But we'll see."

"Drive safe!" they call out as Peeta starts the engine and pulls out of the driveway.

Leaving the mountains the second time is harder than the first. "You're crying…" Peeta's hand finds my thigh as he asks, "What's wrong, love?"

"It's difficult to leave everyone behind this time…"

He gives my leg a light squeeze and sighs, "I know, Kat, but this is our life…"

I nod a little, the gravity of his words hitting me. Our marriage only ensures we won't be stationed on opposite sides of the country. If we're both physically and mentally sound enough to be deployed again, we will be. If it's at the same time, we only have about a fifty-fifty shot of being on the same base. Otherwise, we'll have to be one hundred miles or less from each other.

Chances are one of us will be overseas while the other waits at home.

I lace my fingers with his as we pull onto I-81, "You and me against the world, baby…" I say, kissing his hand as he plays with my engagement and wedding rings.

"Oh, don't be melodramatic, Mrs. Mellark," he says teasingly. I roll my eyes as I unbuckle myself and slip into the back seat. "Where are you going?" he asks.

"To make sure our baby is okay!" I buckle myself in as Phoenix fights against her seatbelt to get into my lap. When she realizes she can't, she settles for resting her head against my leg.


	29. Never Have I Ever, Always and Forever

_October 31, 2004_

"Holy shit! If I see one more sexy Marine, I'm going to vomit…" Johanna grumbles, nursing her third beer of the evening. We got off work at 1500 and are waiting for Peeta and Gale to catch up.

It's Halloween in Jacksonville… and we will be spending it with an infant and the herd of Abernathy kids. Annie had given birth to Finnick's son, Daniel Matthew Odair, in early May.

"Says the girl who walked around base today in a sexy angel costume. I think you gave poor Gale a heart attack!" I say, nudging her.

She just smiles. "And what are you going as?"

I look down, still in my fatigues. Some of us had training today. "A ninja… Or maybe I'll be a secret agent… you think I can carry around my rifle?"

Johanna nearly chokes on her Miller. "Fuck… Everdeen… Not only do I have to spend my anniversary walking a bunch of toddlers around with Abernathy and you guys, I'll be babysitting you, too…"

"Mellark," I correct her, "My name is Mellark…" I smile as I feel an arm wrap around my shoulders.

"It sure is…" Peeta says as Gale embraces Johanna. "You girls ready to go?" I lean into my husband, taking in the comforting smell of sweat and gunpowder.

"Yup, because if Josie here sees one more 'sexy Marine', she's going to puke…"

She just snorts, "After we drop the kids off… We're getting plastered. Absolutely fucking obliterated…."

I just smile and nod, having prepared for this earlier in the week. "I have a handle of Captain…" I remind her.

Johanna chugs the rest of her beer and kisses her hopefully soon-to-be fiancé on the cheek. "Take me home! I'm too drunk to fly," she exclaims. I look at Gale and mouth 'I'm sorry' as I pick up our tab.

* * *

The hardest part about my costume was finding a black jumper. I ended up having to go and buy one from an online lingerie site. It's skin tight, with a collar and no sleeves. Peeta's favorite part, though, is the silver zipper.

"Hey!" I gasp as he unzips it down to my crotch and reaches a cold hand inside.

"I am liking this one…" he says in my ear, pinching my nipple and zipping me up again as I buckle my tactical belt.

"You're really something, babe…" I flop down on our bed and slide on my dark, black leather jumper boots which I had shined to perfection.

"You look good…" I compliment him. We're both going as ninjas, though he chose to cover most of his skin. His black Under Armor shirt clings to every single muscle in his defined chest and back. The shirt is tucked into black cargo pants, which are also tucked into his jumper boots.

"You look better…" he nods, offering me his hand to pull me off the bed.

"Well… yeah, have you seen my butt in these?"

* * *

Lieutenant Colonial Abernathy has the pleasure of living sandwiched between the Hawthornes and us. When we moved in, his wife, Maysilee, came over to make sure our dog wouldn't go after her kids. Two days later, their third child, a five year old blonde who's the spitting image of her mother, climbed over the fence to play with Phoenix.

Little Sophia has been following me around like a little duckling ever since.

"Katniss!" she screams as we enter the house, running and bashing her skull against my pubic bone when she hugs my legs.  _Every time… every single damn time!_

"Sophia!" I exclaim. To be honest, children scare me much more than war. I think it's something about their dependency and grabby hands. And the eyes - can't forget the big, searching eyes.

"Annie is nursing, so you'll head out after…" Maysilee says, rushing into the room with their newest addition, one year old Olivia, the baby she had while Abernathy was in Iraq.

Somewhere between Peeta holding eight year old Danielle upside-down until her face went red from laughter, and Sophia unzipping my jumper, the baby decided to vomit on her mother. "Katniss," Maysilee huffs, "Can you…"

"I… Wait…" Before I can object, the child is placed in my arms. I hold her at an arm's length away.

"Mellark!" Abernathy shouts, entering the room.

"What?" Peeta and I whine together.

"Not you, boy, the half-naked one… who gave you my kid?" he squawks. "You have the maternal instincts of a camel spider…" I awkwardly hug Olivia to my chest.

"Hey… I'm a dingo, at least…"

His face falls and he snatches the baby from me. "Give me that… Bad!" He shakes his finger at me, just as I would do when scolding Phoenix or Buttercup.

"The dingo almost ate your baby!" Finnick teases in an exaggerated Australian accent, entering the room with his son in tow. "Want this one?" he asks, offering the boy to me. Daniel's red hair pokes out of the hood of his costume, a puffy blue octopus.

"No, please… No…" I insist.

When I was younger, trick-or-treating meant running from house to house like a fiend. Now that I'm in my twenties, it means watching the Abernathy girls run from house to house while we sit around and talk at the foot of people's driveways, only moving when they get a few houses away or if someone knocks over one of the little ones.

"Where are Josie and Gale?" I ask, looking down the lane.

"Probably banging…" Finnick sighs. "It is their what… three year? Four year?"

Haymitch shrugs and sips from his flask, "How should I know?"

"He's proposing to her tonight…" I tell them idly as we move to another post. "So after the kids are asleep and we're camped out in someone's back yard with our handle of rum and whatever you guys bought, hopefully we'll have something to celebrate. Though…" I look back again, remembering Johanna's reaction in Iraq when I even suggested a proposal.

"Shit…" Finnick scratches the back of his head. "Guess we'll have to catch up, Ann…"

She shifts the baby to the other hip. "Please… we're already way ahead of them. I don't want Daniel to think we got married because of him…"

We can speak freely with Finnick and Annie about her being a POW. In the first few months after he was born, whenever Daniel and I were in the same room, Annie would tell him that I'm the reason he's here. Whenever she saw Peeta, she reminded him that he's the one who protected his mother.

"Yeah, because Odair didn't have feelings for you at all prior to the kid." Haymitch says sarcastically. "It must have been another Annie he was calling for every night last October…"

"Daddy!" Danielle calls, "We're tired…"

"Good… because adult Halloween is about to start, Dannie-belle!" Haymitch scoops up Sophia while Danielle skips ahead. Their oldest, fifteen year old Isabelle, deemed herself 'too old' for trick-or-treating with Daddy and his Marine friends. She's out there somewhere, avoiding us like the plague.

A case of beer, a handle of rum and a warm October night are all that's needed for 'Adult Halloween' with everyone parked in our backyard.

"Room for two more?" a voice asks. The gate creaks open and in strolls a plainly dressed Gale and Angel-Johanna, hand in hand.

"Sure… you bring any?" Haymitch asks, looking up. "Hello… you know there's kids running around…"

Johanna pulls at her skirt a little, her engagement ring shining in the moonlight. "Fuck off, and pour me a drink…" She pulls a chair out from the table next to Finnick, "It's time to celebrate…  _I'm_  getting married."

"Not so fast… I don't make it easy for the brats to get candy," he chides. "You're not getting drunk without doing some work. And congratulations, I always knew you were capable of tricking someone into marrying you, Jo…"

"Hey! Give me some credit!" Gale chuckles.

"Still… I'm going to make you kids work for your booze…"

"Drill Sergeant Abernathy…" I grumble as Finnick snorts into his beer.

"Please… Just what I want to do, work until someone pukes. I have OCS in three months to do that. You apply yet, Kat?"

I shrug at Finnick in response. My application has been sitting on our kitchen table, getting moved from room to room but never sent. "Can we just drink?"

Haymitch slides the booze close to him, "Now… What game to play…" he ponders.

"Dice, play dice. We'll get Jo and Kat out in like two minutes if we play dice," Finnick grins. I guess it's easy for him to put our brain cells on the line due to our smaller forms, especially since his girlfriend has gone home with his son.

"Maybe…" Haymitch digs in his pocket, producing a deck of cards and dice. "We're playing 'Never Have I Ever…'" There's something comforting about how quickly we all turn into immature children discussing drinking games.

"I'll start," Finnick takes a drink, "Never have I ever had sex with a man."

"Aw, fuck you, Odair!" Johanna says as we both take a drink.

"Well… Never have I ever had sex with another woman!" I say.

I'm the only one at the table who doesn't drink. "Damn, Josie, proving all the stereotypes right."

"Hmm… Never have I ever had a child." Peeta says.

"Never have I ever cried enough to make the sheriff let me off of a B and E," Gale announces as my jaw drops.

"God dammit Gale!" I yell and take a drink. "I have a reputation to uphold!"

"Cry baby…" Haymitch mutters.

"Never have I ever gotten drunk at the Marine Ball and sang 'My Heart Will Go On,'" Johanna laughs.

I watch as Finnick and Haymitch choke on their drinks, "Don't bring that up… The Ball's in like ten days…"

"Oh, I did…" she teases.

"Fine…" Haymitch huffs and turns his attention to me. "I'm coming for you, sister… Never have I ever assaulted a commanding officer…"

I narrow my eyes and drink. "It was worth it… Does your jaw still click?"

"From time to time…" he mumbles.

By the time my cup is empty, I can't think of anything else to say. That means it's time to move on to the next childish level, Truth or Dare.

"Katniss… Truth or dare…" Finnick yawns into his cup.

"Truth, I'm not moving."

"What's the name of the first person you ever slept with?" I choke on my drink and start chewing on the edge of the cup.

"Gale Hawthorne…" I mumble.

"What? We couldn't hear you, sweetheart."

"Gale Hawthorne," I repeat, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Ha! I knew it…" Finnick cackles.

I look away, afraid to meet Peeta's gaze. "Odair… Shut up, it was years ago…"

My husband wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to him. "Babe… you okay?"

I still won't look at him but continue to drink. "I thought you would be mad…"

Peeta amazes me yet again and kisses the top of my head, "No, of course not, because you ask me about my past girlfriends all the time, Kat."

"Was he good?" Johanna asks curiously.

"We were clueless teenagers, and it was  _really_  awkward…" is all I can manage. "Now, can we move onto something else?"

* * *

_November 10, 2004_

"Psst… hey…" I continue typing at my computer, providing satellite information about the potential location of enemy encampments in the desert.

"Go away, Johanna…"

"Shut up, Sergeant Brainless…" She kicks at my shin with her boot. "You wearing a dress to the Ball tonight?"

I snort, "No, I wore a wedding dress to my wedding. I can wear my blues to tonight's shindig." I hit send and begin another message, this time detailing a cargo drop.

"Good… Annie and I are, too… you coming to chow?"

I look up at the clock. I'm already ten minutes into my lunch, but I wanted to get my work done. "Yeah, sure…"

"Gale and Peeta just finished their physical test… nothing like seeing my man sweat…" I smirk a little as we walk through the maze that is Lejeune. "Yours is nice, too… Oh, there they are…"

Peeta and I steal a quick and very chaste kiss, since fraternization of any type while on duty is strictly forbidden.

"Sergeant Mellark!" someone shouts.

"Yes, sir!" Peeta and I respond, turning around as a Sergeant First Class strolls up. "Lieutenant Colonel told me to give you this, Mellark," he says, handing me a white envelope.

No one moves, no one even breathes. In the military, an envelope means one of two things - mindless bullshit or deployment.

"Thank you, sir…" My voice is listless as I tear into the envelope.

 _Gunnery Sergeant Katniss Mellark,_  it reads. My eyes skip ahead to the spoilers at the end, where I see a report date.

"No…" I whisper. I can't be deployed. I read the actual letter, trying to confirm my suspicions. "Oh, false alarm… It's just OCS…" It takes a moment before my words actually register in my head. "OCS! Holy…" I scream as Peeta squeezes me and lifts me off the ground.

"I told you they wanted you!" He hugs me tightly before setting me back down.

OCS is Officer Candidate School. Ten weeks up in Quantico, Virginia, getting screamed at and ran until I'm half dead. It's pretty much basic training on steroids.

"When do you report?" Gale asks as I stuff the letter in my fatigue shirt. I can't let go of Peeta's hand. _Ten weeks away from him…I could do it…_

"January twenty-third to March thirty-first…" I bite my lip, "Awesome, I'm going to miss my first anniversary," I grumble as we push into the noisy mess hall.

Things are more relaxed in here, so Peeta kisses me fiercely on the lips. Since this is a Marine Corps building, though, we have a room full of jarheads cheering for us. "We'll have plenty more anniversaries, Kat…" he promises.

* * *

Ugh, too many pictures. The Marine Corps Birthday Ball is most definitely a tool used to boost morale. Anyone who isn't on duty is there in full dress blues, ready to celebrate the birthday of our Marine Corps. It's held off base at a pretty nice hotel, the name of which I never bothered committing to memory.

"I should have worn the pants, I hate pantyhose…" Annie sighs. "I should call the babysitter…"

Finnick snatches her phone away. "Annie, Daniel is fine. If something goes wrong, which it won't, Isabelle will call us," he says soothingly.

We pose for couples shots and a group photo in front of our nation's flag and the Corps' flag before Johanna, Annie and I opt for the cheesy 'Charlie's Angels' shot.

"Come here…" Peeta takes both of my hands before bending over slightly. Before I know it, I'm over his shoulder.

"Peeta! What are you-?" I squeal before turning my head. Sure enough, Annie and Johanna are in similar positions.

I lose a heel, Johanna's hair comes undone and Annie just accepts her fate.

"I know three guys who aren't getting laid tonight…" Johanna grumbles while I fidget to get my shoe on.

"I hope my backside looked good…" Annie just sighs. "The front is still kind of a mess."

It isn't a somber evening, but we're still very serious… at least for the beginning.

General Paylor is back in town, having returned from Iraq to speak before dinner. "Please stand at attention to salute our Nation's flag," her voice echoes through the room as hundreds of chairs slide out while the National Anthem plays.

As a reflex, no one in uniform sits down immediately until Paylor instructs us to do so. "Two hundred and twenty nine years ago today, your Marine Corps was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Thousands of men and women over those many years have earned the title of Marine," I sip at my water, just wanting to be fed. "Because you aren't handed the title, you earn it through sweat and blood. As we celebrate today, please take a moment to remember those who cannot be with us today, as they are either defending freedom or have given their lives in its name…"

I chew on my chapped lip.  _My Dad could have been here… who knows what rank he would have earned by now?_

After the General speaks, all bets are off.

"Jarheads…" Gale sighs, tilting his head towards a table of privates talking about 'getting some'. "And we're going back with them, Jo…"

I choke on my drink, "What?" The few tables around us go silent at my near squeal.

"Johanna and I are going to Afghanistan in three weeks. For eight months…"

"Six for me," she says, half holding a hand up and waving with her fingers.

I nod, soaking this in. "When are you going to get married then?"

"We're going to the Justice of the Peace the next afternoon we have off," Gale confirms. I try to push the thought of my best friend and his future wife in a war zone and actually enjoy the evening.  _Such is the life of a Marine,_ I remind myself over and over again. Someday, I'm sure I'll be going back.

After dinner, someone rests their hand on my shoulder and gives an affectionate squeeze. "Hey gorgeous, thought I'd actually get to see you out of uniform… care for a dance?" the man asks and I look up. It's one of the rambunctious jarheads from the next table who had been talking about 'getting some' over in Iraq.  _Wonderful…_

"No… thank you, though. I only dance with men who've earned their blood stripes," I say, pointing at his plain blue pants. This man works in my shop.

"Aw, come on, Mellark! You know you want to…" he pleads as I narrow my eyes. His tone makes it seem like he's hinting at something.

"Dude, she's married… to him," Johanna says, pointing at Peeta, who's much larger than the private.

If he had been nicer, I might have considered it. This private, however, is known for making sexist and perverse comments from the start of his shift to the end.

"May  _I_  have this dance?" Peeta asks, taking my hand.

I lace my fingers in his and smile. "This one, and every other for the rest of my life…" I whisper. Peeta kisses my knuckles and smiles as we head to the floor.


	30. Candidate

_January 2005_

I leave for OCS in two days, or forty-eight hours, and I can't let Peeta go. Between stolen kisses at work and our endless love making, you would think I'd be sated. Nope.

"Don't you two ever stop?" Prim sighs, packing what was once my car to go back to Duke. "Seriously, I'm going to have a niece or nephew before I go back for my sophomore year…"

"Speaking of which… Question number sixty-one, females only… Do you have any reason to believe you are currently pregnant…" I read aloud, propping myself up from lying on top of my husband. "Can I put not applicable?"

Peeta sits up a little and kisses my nose. "Just put no…" he murmurs.

"Fine…" I sigh, "You're no fun…" I mark the box with an X and continue answering questions.

He sighs dramatically. "Fine, then I won't wait for you to come home to transfer up to DC…"

"Hey! We're going conditionally, if I make Second Lieutenant." This isn't at all true. Peeta's linguistic skills can't be fully utilized in North Carolina, so we are being transferred to Washington, DC, in April. For me, it will be the first time having a different address than my mother. She is basically living with her boyfriend, Doctor Robert something or other. Prim and I don't mind him, but it was a little weird when he told us, in a very tacky fashion, that he had no intentions of 'replacing our father'.

Since then, we've had to remind him once or twice that we are adults and understand completely.

I'm getting distracted from the issue at hand, though. Married military couples are supposed to be kept on the same base, and I'm Peeta's tag along. But since I still outrank him, I have to be a little cocky; especially when my old position was offered to me on the condition that I skip OCS and go back to non-deployable status. I'm not sure many people have the opportunity to say "no" to an offer from the President… or at least one made on his behalf.

"Can you believe Mom won't be here to see me off?" Prim grumbles while separating Buttercup and Amal, who are play fighting with each other as usual.

"Mom's coming out to see you in a week. What about me?" I ask.

"You're going to summer camp, classes and playing in fields…" my husband teases.

"And ten weeks of drill sergeants screaming in my face…" I say, rolling my eyes.

Peeta's warm arms wrap around me. "What? Think you can't handle it, maggot?"

"Sir! Maggot can handle anything you throw at her, sir!"

Prim makes a face at our banter. "Eww, you mean they really degrade you like that?"

Peeta brings his arm up to cover his eyes. "It's not degrading, it's…"

I yawn, finishing his thought for him, "Dominance. Peeta's going to get to do it this summer with some grunts if they need more Sergeants, or me, if I don't pass. Who knows… maybe we'll see the inside of Parris Island again?"

"Gag me…" Peeta groans. I stick my middle three fingers into his mouth.

"Good?" I ask as he bites down on them and nods. "Ass…" I mutter, throwing my Pre-Ship Checklist onto the floor. I quickly go back to using my husband as a mattress, just as his massive hands come down hard on my backside, kneading the flesh.

* * *

_January 27, 2005_

"Next!" a voice shouts. I look around the intake room. I'm one of about fifty females here, enough for a small company. "Next!" I blink, realizing there's no one in front of me, and step forward. "Name?"

"Katniss Mellark," I reply, shifting my bag on my shoulder, distributing the weight. It would have been better to be here in the summer, wearing sweat shorts and t-shirts instead of heavy fatigues and combat boots. Not to mention I was instructed to bring two pairs.

"Currently enlisted?"

"Yes, sir…"

He cocks an eyebrow, finding my name in the computer. "Current rank, Miss Mellark?"

"It's actually Misses, but Gunnery Sergeant."

His face goes serious, which is a behavior I'm going to have to get used to all over again; chummy one minute, screaming in your face the next. "Well, you're C _andidate_  now, Mellark," he bites back, handing me a pair of forest fatigues and yet another pair of boots to haul around. "Foxtrot Company, bunk thirty-six. No pillow fights."

I want to roll my eyes, though I know it would end badly if I do. This man is a Staff Sergeant. Outside of this camp, I'm his superior. But here, however, I'm the bottom of the barrel; not even a Private, I'm a _Candidate._

Candidate Mellark.

I step into the frigid January air. The next ten weeks are going to be hell.

* * *

Odd numbered bunks are up top, even on the bottom.  _Wonderful…._  I'd not only be sleeping in a long hall full of strangers without my personal space heater, but someone would be on top of me adding to the claustrophobia. Living conditions like this are supposed to increase camaraderie. Perhaps this holds true for the men, where the 'brotherhood' ideal is injected into them the second they get off the bus. In the female bunks, however, there's more of a catty air about. Each and every one of us will need to break that train of thought if we want to get anywhere.

"Parris Island all over again…" I sigh to myself.

Not all of the candidates at OCS are enlisted. In fact, many are college students or people with professional degrees. The woman in the bunk to my right is still a Corporal. "Five bucks says the little one breaks first," she says. I look up at my bunk mate, a woman about two inches shorter than me with a wild look about her.

"Nah… It'll be me," I say, showing her my ring finger. "Not sure I can last without the sex," I tell her sarcastically. The truth of the matter is I really can't bet on who will break first. People do break here - just like Basic, just like on base, and just like in a war zone. A mentally unstable Marine is often just as dangerous as a bored Marine.

Because of my position, I've never had the joy of being in charge of any new Marines. I've never had the life affirming scream in your face moments, either. Ah well… If I graduate, I'll eventually get to scream at some Sergeants.

"Candidate Cashmere, by the way," she introduces herself as we shake again.

"Candidate Mellark, a pleasure," I smile, stripping off my polo and putting on clothes I don't feel alien in – a dark green shirt, forest camouflage jacket, and pants tucked into my boots.

"Hi!" A head of strawberry blonde hair pokes down from the top bunk, "I'm Abigail, well… I guess Candidate Bonnie now… Your name is Katniss?" she asks.

I nod, tying my boots. "Put your hair up, we're getting inspected in two minutes…" I grumble, shoving the rest of my clothing in my footlocker, knowing I'll have time to organize it later. I know several Majors from Lejeune who are up here, including Major Odair. Ten weeks away from Daniel… such is the life of a Marine.

The door slams and it's easy to tell the Marines from the civilians. We're all at the foot of our bunks immediately, standing at attention. "All Candidates should be at the foot of their bunks by the time I count to three!" Our sergeant's voice echoes through the hall, sharp and demanding. Bunks rattle, footlockers slam and soon enough, the entire hall between bunks is full of camouflage clad candidates. "When I address you, you will respond by either calling me ma'am or Sergeant Atala," she barks as I look down the lane. Atala is a tall, muscular African-American woman with stern eyes. "I am not your friend. I am not your enemy. I am your lifeline!"

The only noise in the barracks, besides nervous breathing, is the boots of our Sergeant. She catches me studying her rather than standing at attention and makes a beeline for my bunk.

"Candidate, what is your name?" she demands. She's right in front of me, inches from my face.

"Candidate Mellark, ma'am!" I link my index finger in my watch behind my back, trying to keep from fidgeting.

"You seem pretty keen on checking me out. Do you think look nice?"

I try not to laugh, not this again…

"Ma'am, there is nothing better looking than a Marine in a perfectly worn uniform!" Her face softens only slightly at my words.

"Smart girl…" she says, walking down the lane. Two more steps and she's on poor Bonnie, the innocent looking strawberry blonde whose bun is half falling out, "Candidate!" she hollers.

"Y-yes, m-m-ma'am!" Bonnie responds nervously.

"There are three core values to the United States Marine Corps, what are they?"

 _Honor, courage, commitment…_  I try to send telepathically, but she just stammers as Atala gets closer to her face.

"Anyone? Do any of you worthless candidates know anything?"

You can hear the wind through the barracks. "Permission to speak, Sergeant Atala!" my voice echoes through the hall.

"Permission granted, Mellark."

"There are three core values of the United States Marine Corps. They are honor, courage, and commitment!"

"Commit it to memory, ladies!" Atala instructs. Before finishing her inspection, she picks on several other people, but I don't volunteer to help them. I already have one other person's weight on my back.

I quickly look to Bonnie, who reminds me of Prim. I know now that I'll be doing whatever it takes to make sure she passes or at least survives.

Sergeant Atala reaches the end of the long room and booms at us, "Be at chow in fifteen, at ease!" There's a collective sigh when the door slams shut behind her.

"Do they always get in your face and yell at you like that?" Bonnie asks, looking up at me.

"That was nothing. Get used to being screamed at directly in the face…" I caution as she bites her lip nervously. "I'll help you study if you want. They're going to come through periodically and quiz you." I help her fix her bun. "Every second is a test here, Bonnie."

She just nods in reply. "Am I going to need my jacket at chow?"

On my first day of Basic, all of the Sergeants acted chummy for the first ten minutes, then we were being yelled at to run. "You should be dressed like me. That way if they make us run, you'll warm up." Her eyes go wide. Did she even  _know_  where she was heading when she signed up?

Atala's eyes are on us as we eat dinner, every movement observed. Today and tomorrow, they'll make us afraid in order to weed out the weaklings. How they all keep their voices is beyond me.

"Everyone up! Get up, get up! Head to the doors!"

"Called it…" I grumble, taking one last gulp of my water.

"Move it! Look next to you!" someone shouts. "Your hesitation just killed that person!" I know that voice…Major Odair.

The officers wait until every single candidate is outside before yelling at us to hustle back inside. This happens four more times.

* * *

_February 2005_

During the first ten months of my marriage, I put on about fifteen pounds of extra 'not sweating my ass off in Iraq' weight. After three weeks of OCS, it's gone. Every day consists of running, practicing hand to hand combat, more running, and studying. Once our feet are blistered and all we want is a hot shower, we run even more. Every second Sergeant Atala quizzes us, using it an opportunity to weed someone else out. I'm actually shocked that after three weeks, only four women are sent home.

"Ladies!" Atala shouts. "Welcome to the 'O' Course! By the end of your ten weeks here, you will be able to run this in two minutes or you will not pass. If you take too long, I will send you home, because I'm an impatient woman!"

In Iraq, our course for PT was more focused on climbing. The OCS 'O' Course, however, is a series of horizontal logs about three feet off the ground spaced about twenty feet from one another. There is one bar obstacle you have to swing yourself over, followed by a series of tight hurdles. During Basic, I got chewed out for running on top of them. Next comes a ten foot climb, followed by even more hurdles. My personal favorite comes after the billionth log - a twenty foot decline of horizontal bars you have to worm your arms and legs around without flying, followed by even  _more_  hurdles. I do well with this obstacle thanks to all of the time I spent on monkey bars as a kid. It's basically the same thing, going downhill and butt first. Finally, my least favorite part, the two horizontal bars about six feet off the ground that you have to pull yourself between and the rope climb.

The rope fails more people than anything else.

"At the rope, use the inside of your foot. Push them together and try to stand. It's easier than it looks," I whisper to Bonnie. She seems to be picking things up, even though she's still scared shitless of Atala. "But just the edge at the arch of your foot, not the inside," I explain as she nods.

"Mellark! Feeling chatty?"

"No ma'am!"

"Get up here, Chatty, you and Cashmere can show them how it's done," she orders. Of course, we're the only two in this whole company who have run this…

"May the best woman win?" Cashmere smiles, her bleached white teeth shining in the February sun.

"See you at the rope, I'll be the one at the top!" I challenge back. The whistle blows and we're off. The men have already been through the course; all of the ice from the morning is gone, leaving the logs a little damp. I flip myself over the bar just a second before Cashmere. I know the only way to beat her will probably get me either chewed out or noticed. A good officer can adapt to overcome any situation.

I get to the point where the log hurdles are barely five feet apart. Using the one skill I've learned throughout my life, I push myself on one to hop across the six or so logs and get a good second lead on my foe. The high bars are cold against my bare hands and feel even worse through my pants. I can't get myself over them fast enough.

 _Pinch the rope with your feet and try to stand_.  _Oh god, I still hate the rope…_  I slip twice, but my muscles remember how to do this quickly. I ring the bell at the top and slide down. A few seconds later, I hear the other bell ring.

"Shit, I'm out of shape…" Cashmere grumbles, patting my back. "When did you think to jump the logs?"

"Basic, second week," I tell her as we head back to the company, both of us just barely in passing range. "Sergeant Anderson got in my face about how a good Marine listens to orders and sticks to tradition."

Cashmere tilts her head back and chuckles, and the sound is almost liberating. Three weeks and all I can do is dive into training. Sometimes I forget I'm human.

After warming up, I finally have some free time to call home. Cell phones are not allowed, as well as alcohol and fraternization of any type.

The only way to call home is to use the personal phones located near the chow hall where everyone can overhear your conversation. After three rings, Peeta finally picks up. "Remember how two weeks before I left, I said I was getting fat?" I ask.

"All gone?" he says. The smirk in his voice is evident, and I can see it in my mind…

"And then some… I'm afraid to weigh myself, though my six pack is almost back…" I rub my hand along my stomach.

"I can't wait to run my tongue over it…" he purrs. I blush and look away from the man using the phone next to me.

"Behave yourself…" I scold. "How are my babies?"

"Phoenix had Buttercup pinned to the ground when I came home, so she spent most of the night in the laundry room. Amal keeps looking around the house for you…"

"You shouldn't have locked the dog up, you should give her a damn reward!" I exclaim, running my hands through my loose hair. "But I have to go… I love you, baby… It was good to hear your voice," I sigh.

"Yours too, and I love you. Make lots of friends…" he teases. I huff and hang up the phone.

"Hi, Mellark," Bonnie says. She shouldn't be here, but rather in the barracks studying. For some reason, she looks uncomfortable.

"What's wrong, Bonnie?"

"Just heading to medical."

"Something broken?" I ask. Women flock to medical as a type of 'Get out of PT' pass. Not Bonnie, though, I refuse to allow it.

_Why do I even care?_

"No, just really sore…" she says. I grab her elbow, "Wait, where are we going?"

"Back to Foxtrot. You're not going to medical unless you're vomiting, bleeding or have a break somewhere…" I have to make her strong. "Sit," I command. She flops down on my bed and I take off her boots. I roll her ankles for her to alleviate some of the stress. She whimpers some, as her body is not used to being abused like this.

"Bonnie, why are you here?" I ask finally, the question tired of being on the tip of my tongue.

"I want to give back. I just finished pre-law and figured this would be the best way to give back…" she sighs. I wasn't expecting an honorable reason. Maybe there's hope for her yet?

"It gets easier, your body adapts. During my first few weeks at Basic, I thought I was going to die. I had the worst drill instructor," I smile a little. "Trust me, Atala's nothing compared to her."

"Why are you so nice to me?" Bonnie asks, climbing to get to her footlocker. "You saved my ass on the first day, you're teaching me so much… Why?"

"You remind me of my sister," I tell her, and pull out one of our Corps history books. "Now, I want to try something. It'll help you a lot, but you can't freak out or hit me… okay?"

I'm determined to get Bonnie over her fear of being chewed out whether she likes it or not. "Okay… " she says meekly. "I'll try."

"Stand up!" My voice goes cold, but she doesn't move. "Grunt, I told you to stand up!"

She jumps up and shouts, "Ma'am!"

"Good, now… Rifleman's creed!" I bark as she flinches. "Do you think I asked you because I like to hear my own voice, grunt? Spineless little thing! And you think you have what it takes to be one of the elite? To be a Marine?"

"I do, ma'am!" She looks forward again and I believe her words, especially after she recites the creed without a flaw.

"Good, I think I can make something of you yet…" I drill her until my voice is hoarse and we've run out of things to work on.

The next morning, her one pant leg is not tucked in. Even though Atala chews her out for a good five minutes, Candidate Abigail Bonnie doesn't flinch.


	31. The Quigley

Candidates are given weekends off for 'rest'. I juggle my time between phone calls with my family, studying and being tormented by Abernathy, who's here for some mystery reason, and Odair, who is in charge of Charlie Company.

"I swear, I'm going to strangle one of my guys…" Finnick mutters. Just because we're on rest doesn't mean that we're not being watched. "Titus, man… He might bite someone's arm off if given the chance…"

Abernathy snorts, "The ladies sync up yet?" I roll my eyes at him and kick at a pile of slush on the ground. It's warming up slowly, from the low thirties to about forty. The once frozen swamp has become a frigid free flowing waterway that we would be traversing on Monday morning. They always kick our asses on Monday.

I chug my Gatorade, as winter is a good time to get dehydrated. When you're hot you think to drink, but no one notices how much water you're losing when you're cold.

"Shut up… That's just a myth."

"They don't call them the tuna tents for nothing… just wait," Odair chuckles. I jump into the pile of slush, spraying the grey mess into cleaner snow.

Abernathy gags, "Second week of every month, go to talk to the female Staff Sergeant? Get your head ripped off, then the smell hits you…"

"You guys are the worst…" I mumble. We walk farther from the complex, closer to the line of trees marking the start of the swamp. There are a few easy ways to get noticed at any form of training - actually have some skill, train after hours, or be completely out of control. It takes a few weeks for the pack to find its place and for the candidates to let go of who they were and become what they can be, whether it be one of the elite or an embarrassment.

"People are starting to notice you, sweetheart, unfortunately not just the officers," Abernathy says.

"Alpha, Bravo, and Delta rated you a nine out of ten," Odair confirms.

I chuckle a little, "Really? I only earned a four in Basic, though I was kind of a bitch and really lanky."

"What's changed between then and now?" Finnick teases as I give him a playful shove.

My boots sink a little in the mud, marking where the grass beaten down by hundreds of boots daily meets the currently untouched swamp. "We're running this Monday, aren't we?"

"All damned day…" Major Odair grins, patting my back.

They call it The Quigley. It is the make or break OCS exercise, about two miles of pure hell. In the summer, you would be assaulted by mosquitos and the odd snake; in winter, the once frozen water will most likely knock the wind straight from your lungs.

I exhale loudly, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Any advice?" I ask, glancing down at the swamp's murky brown water. The only obstacle I can see are the sort tubes only half filled with water at this end, but they exit about a foot under. A grown man takes up almost the entire tube, so Foxtrot should slip through with ease.

"Yeah," Abernathy snorts, "Stay alive."

I just roll my eyes and turn on my heels, heading back to my barracks.

"How about… tuck your nuts?" Odair yells back. I pull one hand from my pocket to give him the middle finger.

"She really is quite the lady, good sir," I hear Finnick laugh.

"Quite…"

"And you didn't even tell her what Charlie gave her…"

* * *

At 0500, the lights flick on. "Everyone up! Let's go! Let's go! We're at war, ladies! Get the fuck up! Fifteen minutes, I want you all ready to go! It's going to be forty five degrees today! Perfect for a swim."

Sergeant Atala has to be some kind of wicked sadist.

The sun isn't even up and here we are, standing in front of the swamp. "This is a mile course, ladies. Start with the horizontal bars, then you're going to throw yourselves into the swamp. The course is clearly marked, so I shouldn't have to explain much. Just remember at the barbed wire, don't poke your head up. You wouldn't want to die here at training."

_Cheerful._

I'm at the back of the line just ahead of Bonnie, who is terrifyingly quick on the monkey bars. My feet hit the mud and she's already on my heels. "Let's hustle, Mellark!" she teases as we slosh through the icy cold water.

"Ready for a swim?" I ask. I watch the woman ahead of me clutch her rifle to her chest and back down into the water. One breath to psych yourself up, a second to attempt to go but to chicken out, and on the third, she's gone.

When I was twelve, I fell through the ice near my grandmother's house. Back then, I was barely a twig. But even now, covered in a thick layer of muscle, it's still just as miserable. Muddy water invades my mouth and nose as I kick through, my boot slipping on the muddy cement tube before I surface.

"Let's hustle, ladies! Come on, pick up those knees!" Atala shouts.

Another long trek through deep water and my teeth are chattering.  _I miss my layer of fat…_

A high wall of boards awaits us next. It would be easy if it wasn't for the mud caking my hands and the boards. Getting up is easy enough, but on the way down I fall right into the mud, soaking myself. Twenty feet in front of me sits a pool of shallow brown water with a barbed wire grid. I'm not going to avoid it anymore. I can't even tell if I'm wearing camo anymore, as the deep browns and greens are now covered by the solid brown clay we're trekking through.

Just like the many women ahead of me, I dive in head down, the frigid water lapping at my chin. My boots dig in to the muck while my elbows try to lift me from the water as I push forward. I tilt my gun barrel up, trying to keep the water from flowing into it. I know it's not a real rifle, but it's still good practice.

The muck gets shallower and the wire closer to my face, forcing me to roll on my back. I want to scream as the wire bites my arm.  _How could I be so careless?_  I don't dwell on it, though. I keep going forward, forcing my legs to push me free from the wire.

After that obstacle, it's only a one hundred yard trek through neck deep water, guns over our heads, all the while being told our grandmothers can do better.

To be honest, I'm sure Sae could do better on a good day.

The hot water of the showers runs brown and red when Atala lets us go until breakfast. Someone had cut open her forehead and didn't realize it until about five minutes into our shower. My arm wasn't bad, just a shallow and annoying cut. The blood sends two girls into screaming fits, which I find rather comical. _Oh, are they in for a surprise._

We start a new routine. Breakfast, get chewed out, obstacle course, chewed out some more, Quigley, shower, class, lunch, more class, combat training, then finally running until we're basically dead while getting chewed out.

* * *

_March 2005_

Nine in ten female Marines will experience some sort of unwanted sexual contact. At least that's what a newsletter I got a few weeks prior to OCS told me. I was the lucky one, I guess, at least so far. That being said, it's not guaranteed that ninety percent of female marines will be raped. That number actually drops from nine to three of ten.

I'm walking to the phones to call Peeta before lights out when I hear, "No! Get away!" I freeze and listen for where the noise is coming from. I close my eyes, letting what Prim calls my 'hunter senses' take over. "No! Please! Help!" the female voice pleads.

Humans are born with two very important survival instincts, fight and flight. I choose to ignore one of them and run straight to the call for help. A male candidate is pressing one of the females up against the wall. He has one hand covering her mouth, the other down her sweats.

"Get off her!" I hiss, taking fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him to the ground. I recognize this man, he's one of Finnick's.

"What do you think you're doing, Titus?" I put my boot on his neck, forcing his head to the side. "Tell the lady you're sorry!"

"I was just having a little fun. You can't tell me what to do, you stupid dyke… we're the same," he snarls. I take my boot away and haul him to his feet, grabbing his wrist and putting him in an arm bar. The woman runs back to Foxtrot, most likely to never speak of this again.

Of the ninety percent of female Marines assaulted, only a handful will ever report it.

I twist his wrist like the throttle of a motorcycle. "No, we're not," I growl back. With one fistful of his shirt, I bend him over to take him back to Charlie, hopefully to Finnick. "You're a pig, worthless scum, I'm a Marine."

I kick open the door to the Charlie Barracks and nearly slam into the one person I was looking for. "Candidate Mellark, what are you doing?" Odair asks, not even trying to hide his surprise.

"Returning this to you. It seems your candidate here thinks it's appropriate to shove his hands down his fellow candidate's pants, even after the lady asked him to stop."

Finnick's bright green eyes go cold in a matter of seconds, "What…?" I've never seen Finnick go all drill instructor before. It's actually terrifying.

He cracks Titus on the back of the head. "We are honorable men, Titus! Honorable men don't force themselves on women!" Titus says nothing as Finnick continues. "When you are in the same room as a woman, you keep your damn head down from now on! If I even so much as  _think_  you're looking at any of the women here, your ass will be out! Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir…" he mumbles.

"I didn't hear you!"

"Yes, Major Odair, sir!"

"Now, to your bunk!" Titus shoots me one last hateful look before stomping away.

"Katniss…" Finnick sighs, pulling me into the cold March air, "I'm sorry, that shouldn't have happened… I should have watched him better. Are you okay?" he asks, looking so sad.

My eyes widen in response. "It wasn't me! It was a girl from my company."

His eyes narrow, "Then why isn't  _she_  here?"

I cross my arms over my chest, the wind blowing straight through my sweats. "Finnick…" I sigh, "You know how these things are…" It's the 'she asked for it' or the 'she's lying' mentality. If there's one thing I hate about the Marines, it's our blind eye to things like this. "Anyways… I should probably call my husband, or go to bed…. Probably bed."

"I can call your husband, I'm sure I can make my voice sound all high and whiny," he teases, clearing his throat, "Oh Peeta, I love you so much!" as he mimics my voice terribly.

"God dammit, Odair… I'm going to sleep. Go bat your eyelashes at your girlfriend…"

The barracks are abuzz when I come back, the room silencing as I enter and stroll to my bed. I kick off my sneakers and get under the covers as the woman from earlier rushes to my side and pulls me into a hug. "Thank you," she whispers before running away. The woman and I never speak again.

* * *

At the four week mark, something happens at OCS. We are no longer contractually required to stay, so a Candidate can elect to leave at any time. Rumor has it that a man quit halfway through the Quigley, which I can see happening. You could give one hundred and ten percent and still fail at that one.

In these first twenty eight days, I've become sore in places I never knew imaginable, watched grown men collapse from hypothermia, and learned six different ways to get my ass handed to me in hand to hand combat with women who were civilians less than thirty days ago.

Bonnie and I have grown close. I'm her lifeline and she's mine, since calling home is limited and Peeta is hundreds of miles away. "Here…" I whisper. Tucked away in my footlocker, pinned between a pile of paperwork and my spare boots, I found a picture from the Birthday Ball.

Bonnie has been asking about Peeta for weeks. Since I started sleeping away from him, the nightmares he's kept at bay are pushing through again. My screaming had woken up the whole room two nights ago. The majority of the girls, the softer ones who never had those moments in Basic being eighteen, having your identity stripped from you while the ground beneath your feet is ripped out from below, whisper about me going crazy from the pressure. Cashmere, on the other hand, understands completely.

" _Shut up, you whiny bitches, that's the face of war. Deal with it!" she grumbled. "And go the fuck back to sleep!"_

I point to the picture, "The blonde is my husband, the next two are the Hawthornes. The man was my best friend growing up, and the woman is his now wife. They're over in Afghanistan right now," I pause, "And that's-"

"Holy crap… Major Odair?" she cries as I nod. "But he was yelling in your face the other day!"

I nod again. "We were in Iraq together. We're different people when we're in uniform. Plus, here he's my superior and impressing him and all the rest of them is our key to success. "

She runs her fingers along the medals at my chest, "Wow… is that a Purple Heart?" I nod and pull up my sleeve.

"Took a stray bullet here," I explain, pointing to the jagged scar on my arm. "It was from a friendly," I cringe, trying to push the memory away. "Then…" I untie my sweats and let her examine the long scar on my leg. "He threw a grenade and trapped me under this really rickety building." Her jaw drops in response. "Yeah… It's a long story," I smile a little, thinking of those hours trapped with Peeta. Who knows where we would be if it hadn't been for that? Would I still be teasing him about the girl back home he had a thing for? Would either of us have ended the childish game of chicken we were playing?

"Peeta… I think he had just earned Sergeant then, came to rescue me after back-up arrived," I hear my voice crack, "A little girl was killed and the locals weren't too happy about it…" Bonnie just nods. "Well, if you go over to the Middle East, you'll figure out really quick what a dust storm is. Then imagine being in one hundred and twenty degree heat, trapped in a building during a dust storm while some pretty pissed off Shiites look for prisoners…"

"Did you know you would marry him then?" she asks.

I smile and laugh a little. "No, I still wonder how we got here most days," I sigh, folding the picture back up and tucking it away. "Now… name the ranks in order from lowest to highest."

* * *

Though we're the elite warriors, the crazy ones who run to the sound of gunfire, very little of our training here is actually combat… but when we do…

"You will bring your hands down as if chopping into their shoulders, grab onto the shirt and bring them off their center of gravity," Finnick instructs. We're training with the men today. Every single candidate is out on the once green but now muddy field, our boots beating the grass into submission. With the season not allowing for regrowth, we now stand in a muddy mess. "Then bring your knee up. For this exercise, only three strikes until you take them down. In a real life situation, you do not stop! A Marine never stops his or her attack until the goal is met!" Odair shouts.

Take down… also known as face in the mud.

This tactic has stuck with me. I smirk a little, remembering when I put it to use in DC over a year ago. "Something funny, Candidate Mellark?" Finnick is on me instantly.

"Sir, Candidate was remembering a practical use for the current exercise, sir!"

"And what would that be?"

"Rape defense, sir!"

It takes three swaps for my partner to actually hit me with force, though I'm practically knocking the wind out of her through the thick pad we're trading between each other. "Jesus, go easy on me, kid…" she grumbles.

"Easy? Go easy on you? Next time I'm in Iraq, I'll ask the people shooting at me to go easy on me…" I snap, bringing my hands down on her collarbones, grabbing her shirt and bringing my knee up three times. I take a half a step back and bring her to the ground. "This isn't summer camp," I grumble with my knee between her shoulder blades.


	32. Guardian Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm predicting one more chapter of OCS, then a lovely smut filled chapter to celebrate my divorce from ff.net. I got to keep the kids obviously! <3

_Jump down… Serpentine… Stab out with bayonet… Dive under wire… Cover… Take aim… Shoot target with paintball… keep going…._

My feet obey my mind though they burn. We’re six weeks in now. Each day, they add yet another piece of gear. The first part was a marching vest, something I actually felt naked without. Most candidates are keeping them empty, though mine is loaded with a cloth to wipe mud from my face, an extra bottle of water (which I always seem to be giving away) and anything else I think might be helpful.

Two days ago, we had one of the first parts of our examinations - a four part leadership examination where we were broken down in groups of four.

_“An enemy platoon has blown out the bridge ahead of you, though the frame still stands. You see two pieces of salvageable debris, and two metal poles that may support your weight. You have precious cargo, ammunition and supplies for your brothers and sisters a mile ahead. If they don’t receive these supplies, they will most likely die,” I nod, taking notes. “Anything that drops into the water is gone forever, including one of you.”  He hands me a large metal box, about forty pounds, which was supposed to be the supplies._

_“Sir!” I shout and head back to my girls. Our obstacle is about a ten by ten square of water with one horizontal bar five or so feet in, but too high to be able to traverse without the aid of the metal poles. “Take off your belts,” I said, going for mine as the three other women look confused. “We’re going to need to make a rope because…” I pull the rope from my vest, “This isn’t going to be enough.”_

_We link our tactical belts together and every so often have to adjust our pant. There isn’t a single person here who weighs more than she did when she got here. Together, we prop the one pole against the horizontal bars that are supposed to represent a bridge frame. The one woman ties a knot at the end to give the actual rope some weight as she throws it over the cross the bars, while as a team we use the other bar to nudge the rope to us. A simple slipknot and the bar is secure._

_“Me first?” I ask when no one makes a move. “When I get on the first bar, someone start climbing up. Then I’ll cross to the second since it’s like three feet away. We’ll take the last pole and make a bridge across. When we have one person on each platform, we’ll pass the goods from woman to woman then finish crossing. Good?”_

_No one argues. Climbing a pole is a lot like a tree, only it’s perfectly smooth, ice cold and easy to slip… Okay, so it’s nothing like a tree. Once I’m above the water, I’m holding onto a pole with only my thighs before I have to force myself to stand. I teeter some but manage to pull myself onto the other bar just as lady number one, a Candidate named Leegs with a twin sister also in my group, makes her way to the ‘bridge frame’ with ease. “You good, Leegs?” I ask._

_“Yeah!” they both respond._

_“Oh, this is confusing! You, Leegs on the bar, you’re Leegs 1; you, on the ground, Leegs 2? Good?”_

_“Yes ma’am!”_

_“Good, now, the pole!” I can only use one hand to push it to place, needing every other limb to keep me from falling into the water. Leegs 1 makes her way onto the second bridge frame to help me. Together, we wedge the thing in the corner and loop our belts around it, making a bridge. “Alright, next lady!” I lay down on the pole, using my feet to slide myself across. It’s not a far gap, but passing the forty pounds of our victory is going to be a pain. Everyone gets into position and the case is moved from ground to the first bar, then to the second. This is the largest gap, and when Leegs 1 makes her way to pass it to me, something gives. She slips so she’s upside-down, clinging on by her knees and one arm._

_“Leegs!” I go to reach but almost slip myself, “Just hold on!”_

_“Easy for you to say!” she snaps as I throw my marching vest to the ground. I can’t unbutton my fatigue coat fast enough and tie it off on a metal pole supporting the overhang I currently stand under. I back my feet to the edge and test my weight on the fabric of my coat before tilting back. “Pass it up!” I yell. It’s a struggle, the forty pounds against gravity and the sleeve of my shirt, not giving way or tearing off my hand which it’s looped around several times. I feel the cold metal handle of the case in my outstretched hand and pull myself back up just as Leegs 1 throws her leg over the bar and shimmies her way back to safety. Two successful, we pull Leegs 2 to us and finally our last member._

_“That was good, yeah?” Leegs 2 asks, brushing some loose hair from her face. The fourth woman hands me my rope. “Thank you…” I pause, checking her name tag, “Seeder.” I wind the rope as the evaluator pulls me aside._

_“That was good, kid. You had a definitive plan going in, used your resources, even adapted when something went wrong. It was a little slow, but I won’t be picky.” He marks up my paper and hands it to me just as Leegs 1 comes back with our rope made of belts._

I'm already one test down, though there are still written examinations and the fifteen mile hike. At the end of Basic, you’re thrown into a fifty four hour examination where every single thing you've learned over the first twelve weeks is put to use. At the end, you march back to Parris Island in formation as the sun rises. We call it the Dawn March and it is easily one of the proudest moments of every Marine’s early career. It’s the ‘I did it’ moment. No, we haven’t graduated. That ceremony waits a day or so, but those who have made it through the gauntlet can see the finish line.

At OCS, everyone’s tight lipped about our final physical examination, which is fine. I still have over four weeks to prepare for it. Instead, I throw myself into rifle training… not that I need it or anything. It’s a nice vacation.

Here’s the great debate… do I go for the five hundred yard targets and show off, or do I stick with closer ones…?

I line up my shot, hearing my scout in my head, _fire… fire… fire…_ I pull the trigger, sending my shot straight through the ten zone five hundred yards away. I do this several times until my magazine is empty.

Every single Marine is considered a rifleman; from the lowly private who just crawled out of Basic to General Coin. Hand any of us a rifle and we can at least hit our target. Only a few hundred of us earn the title of ‘Scout Sniper’ though. I turn my gun from live to safe and stand up as a very good many eyes are on me, staring at me like I’ve just told them some big secret.

No one says anything as I rotate myself to the back of the line again.

_What, never seen a girl with a gun before?_

* * *

I’m better up high, away from the close quarters combat. My squad leader knows this and when Foxtrot has a paintball skirmish against Charlie, she places me in the tallest tree we can find. Live combat training, they called it.

Hey, they say use whatever skills you have at your disposal. It’s not my fault we have the advantage of a sniper. Unfortunately, these guns only have a one hundred foot range so I’m limited to the idiots stomping around under or near my perch. This, however, doesn’t stop me from covering five men from Charlie with paint, including Candidate Titus, though I had aimed for the back of his head. He didn’t enjoy that.

The first round is a manhunt. One shot, one kill until only one remained. The other had different rules, pain or paint. Somehow though, I ended up face to face with Titus. “You start at twenty paces, Foxtrot, take a shot, Charlie, take a shot. Take a step until one of you yields, or we get bored.”

I pull my mask down and feel the sharp bite of a shot right on my sternum. I wince but fire back, right under his sternum. His shooting is random; once in my breast, once in my hip. Every single one of my shots hits him in the same spot or pretty damn close. I’ll walk away with more welts, but they're just like a rubber band snap.

Fifteen paces in, we are basically at point blank range. His shots are still at random, whereas blood begins seeping through his green t-shirt, so he won’t last much longer. Another step and he lunges forward, the butt of his gun hitting me in the stomach, forcing the wind from my lungs.

_Shit…_

He rips the mask off my face, the only thing protecting me from his fist. My world goes blurry as my head jostles from the blow. The sharp but dull throbbing pain starts at a growl but quickly turns into a roar before I can get my arms up to defend myself.

I never want to admit that my size puts me at a disadvantage. But with two hundred pounds of pissed off, vengeful Titus striking me, there’s not much I can do with him sitting across my hips. I’m aware of someone shouting; Titus jerks, but continues to bring his fist down on my arms, the only thing shielding him from my face.

“Get the fuck off her!” I guard my face with my arm, my free hand snapping up to sink my fingers in his neck, pressing into where his carotid arteries run. I squeeze as hard as I can, trying to close my fingers around the cartilage in his neck.

Titus jerks away from my grasp giving my savior, Major Odair, the upper hand. The weight is off my hips and I squirm away. “Get her to medical now!” Finnick screams as hands grab for me.

 _Pull the poor girl away, take her to the med wing,_ I sneer in my head. I shove the person away. It’s Haymitch. “I don’t need help…” I insist, spitting blood from my mouth and wiping my chin clean with my sleeve.

“Sergeant Atala, take Candidate Mellark to medical,” he says as more blood trickles into my mouth. I feel so confused; just what I need, another concussion. I pray to whatever deity hasn’t turned his or her back to me at this point that I don’t have even more brain damage. Titus only got one or two decent hits to my head so I should be fine, the key word being _should_.

My Sergeant picks me up off the ground, taking me by the arm and literally dragging me to medical while Abernathy and Odair deal with Titus.

My teeth cut into my cheek so I’m given stitches that will dissolve in a few days. They don’t think I have a concussion because by the time I’m seated in the clinic, I’m back to being my argumentative self. There’s a knock on the door and the stone-faced Atala goes to open it. “Major, Lieutenant Colonel. She’s-“

They push past her, “We’ll take it from here, Sergeant.” She gives them a curt nod after Abernathy dismisses her. There’s still paperwork, incident reports, complaints, things I have to file if I so choose.

“Here to yell at me?” I rub my stitches with my tongue after snapping at them, “That’s your job, isn’t it? So let me have it!”

The pair look between each other nervously. “Titus is on his way home. We took the liberty of…” I have a sinking feeling I know what's coming next, “Getting a hold of Peeta since you wouldn’t. He should know his wife was just assaulted,” Odair finishes as I narrow my eyes.

“That’s disgustingly inappropriate.”

Haymitch sits down next to me on the medical cot. He’s stiff and awkward at first, but rests a hand on my knee. “Listen, we know you. You’re stubborn as a mule and…”

“You have the bite of a dingo. Also, where’d you pick up that go for the throat thing? I know they don’t teach that at MCMAP…” I think MCMAP stands for Marine Corps Martial Arts Program, but the meaning of the phrase is lost on us. Everyone just calls it MCMAP.

“I went with my gut…” I grumble. “How pissed was Peeta?” I ask, picking at an invisible string on my pants.

I hear Finnick shifting as he takes the icepack I refused earlier and presses it to my bruising cheek. “Just worried… he wants you to call him.”

These two are babying me, protecting me. My mind enters that sinking hate spiral and I roughly shove both of them away and get off the cot. “Stop. Both of you, for fuck’s sake, stop!” I wince as my yelling tugs on my stitches. “What are you doing?” I ask incredulously. They look between each other, a silent form of communication passing between their eyes, something I’m sure they’ve developed after years together. “Don’t do your little telepathic thing! I’m right here - what are you doing?” I seethe.

“I have to go back to Charlie,” Odair says and hurries out the door. I want to shout that I’m not done with him, but choose to just let him go.

“Well?” I snap, staring at Abernathy.

He sighs, the wrinkles on his face showing his age. “I just wanted to…” he opens his mouth, “Listen, sweetheart. You’re going to stomp around, act pissy, whatever. I understand, but I have a debt to pay.” My heart sinks, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. “Ever since I saw your name when you were coming to Iraq…” his voice fades. He’s protecting me, or at least trying to.

I ball my fists up. “I’m not some sad little girl who needs to be rescued!” I snap. “I’m twenty-three, almost twenty-four fucking years old for shit’s sake! I’m going to get hit. I’m going to get hurt.  Hell, the way it’s looking overseas, I’m going to-“ I cut myself off. Rumor has it that scout snipers are getting picked off far too easily, “Never mind. Haymitch Abernathy, right now I’m not the woman who has to return your daughter to you five times a week because she’s in my backyard playing with my dog. I’m your inferior, you’re my commanding officer… well, one of them. Treat me like one. Don’t single me out unless I’m doing a shit job.”

He nods. “Listen, you may not see it this way, or want to, but I have a debt to pay to your father. Right now, the only way I can think of repaying that debt is to make sure his daughter gets through OCS in one piece. I would never even consider interfering with your training.”

I’m still angry, but I can understand where he’s coming from. “You should have given me away at my wedding then! Debt paid!” I spin on my heels and leave the room, just as he begins to chuckle.

I don’t call Peeta until the next day. I have mail, a big brown envelope I’ve been waiting for. We’re unable to look for a house or apartment because of work, so with the help of the internet and a realtor, we’re hunting for our future home. We have a short list of necessities - dogs allowed, parking, air conditioning and on-site laundry. A safe neighborhood would be nice to have; not because we can’t keep ourselves safe, but we don’t want our cars getting broken into. I still don’t own my own car since Prim has mine at Duke, but I’ll need once since we’ll most likely be going in opposite directions in the morning.

The bruise on my cheek and my stitches make it troublesome to talk. “I like the one…” I shuffle through papers, “Oh, here it is, the one on Davis Place. But do we really need two bedrooms?”

He’s silent for a few seconds, “Are we even going to talk about what happened?”

I inhale, reminding myself that he’s protective over and over again. If Peeta had been here, Titus would have been beaten to a pulp. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m fine, I just got hit a few times.” Well, more than a few, as my arms are littered with purple bruises. PT was painful today and I almost failed the flex arm hang. Push-ups made my poor arms feel like someone was driving nails into them. “I’m fine, just two stitches in my mouth where my teeth tore into my cheek and maybe a black eye. I haven’t looked in the mirror.”

“Katniss…” he whines over the phone.  It’s the ‘your lack of concern for your wellbeing is astounding’ whine that I first heard in Iraq. I realize there’s a difference between how he whines my name depending on what I’m doing, like when I was standing on the top step of our ladder stringing up Christmas lights.

“Peeta, I can’t change this. Just… I don’t have a lot of time. Do you know your date of transfer yet?”

“They’re talking about end of May, early June?” he says while I bite at my nail.

“Good, good, gives us time to buy furniture, and get one last beach day in.” The one good thing about Jacksonville is the beach. It's barely a half hour drive for us, and we spent most of our first summer there together.

“Should I tell the realtor to mail the lease? Or should we go and sign it before heading back?”

I smile a little, though my cheek argues against it. This feels normal, something our relationship has never been. Even though I'm three hundred miles away, we're searching for our home where, at least Peeta hopes, we’ll be starting our family. “Do we both need to sign? If so, have them mail it, and I’ll sign it at graduation.” I look around, all the phones are taken and someone’s waiting. “But listen, I have to go. I love you…”

“And I love you. Be careful… you graduate in a week…” the phone crackles as his words sinks in. I’ve been here for nine weeks. The ache of my sore muscles has become a constant and I’m not sure I’ll function without it. I’m pretty positive I’m now hypothermia resistant, and I can also scale a rope without my legs, cutting my O Course time down by five extra seconds.

I make my way back to Foxtrot. Lights out isn’t for another hour, but I’m ready to check out for the day. Tomorrow is Sunday and I can study for my exams then. For now, I need to let myself dream.

_As far as I can see, the little white blocks of limestone dotted the landscape. I had been here hundreds of times, Arlington National Cemetery. It’s raining; not hard, but an annoying drizzle that falls silently as the guns go off. Seven guns shot three times. A twenty-one gun salute. I follow the noise until I stand before the lone open grave. A small girl standing at the edge, clutching a flag folded perfectly so only the stars show._

_She doesn’t cry, just stare._

_“What are you doing here? Where are your parents?” I ask. She turns slowly to look at me and I can feel my heart stopping. Sad grey eyes, black hair in two braids clutching the last piece of her father to her chest._

_I stare at myself at my father’s funeral. Just as quickly as she looks at me she goes back to focusing her attention on the grave. I walk to the edge and see the casket in the hole, open with no body. I jerk back, “Dad!” I scream, my voice echoing through the empty hills of Arlington, “Dad, where are you!”_

_“It’s not for Daddy…” the younger version of me grabs my arm. I look up at the headstone._

_Katniss Mellark_

_Gy Sgt_

_May, 8 1981-_

_I can’t read my date of death because she tugs my arm, pulling me off my center and into the grave. “It’s for you…” I land on the soft silk of the casket and the top closes._

_“Deep in the meadow, under the willow, a bed of grass-“  I can’t hear the younger version of me singing above my pounding on the casket as the sound of dirt being shoveled fills my ears._

I jerk awake, a cold sweat making my skin clammy. I roll to my side, trying to shake off the dream but nothing works. Nothing but Peeta ever works.

* * *

Everyone stares at chow. Come Monday, they all have heard about how Titus from Charlie beat Mellark from Foxtrot. I’m constantly poking at the two little knots in my mouth with my tongue, sure to get infected. Graduation is on Saturday, but tomorrow the fun begins. The fifteen mile hike we’ve all been made to dread.

The goal is simple, retrieve an injured Marine in the lovely swamp. This final exam takes over a day and we’ll be sleeping outside for at least one night. They do something similar to this at Parris Island, only here there are more obstacles, people able to attack us or a change in plans. Our proctor can take away anything they want; our map, matches, anything they want so they can see how we’re able to adapt.

We don’t actually leave Tuesday, but Wednesday at 0600. I bite down on my toast, chewing it away from my stitches as Bonnie rambles about seeing her aunt, the woman who raised her.

“And her cooking, that’s what I miss the most. Real meals,” I snort a little but listen to her rambling, “Is the food like this in Iraq?”

I shake my head no before something slams. I can hear glasses rattle and everything goes silent. “Everybody get up! Let’s go!” I roll my eyes as the officers herd us outside. You’d think after nine weeks they’d get over this.

Nope, it’s the same every day, without fail.


	33. The 70th Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always... Thank you Chelzie for being an amazing beta, even going over this chapter while at Starbucks. You're almost too amazing for words.

_March 2005_

The sky is grey. It’s the pure, dreary kind that leaks too much rain to ignore but not enough to use an umbrella if we could. “Almost there…” someone grumbles.  According to the map, we have one more mile…one more mile to Second Lieutenant.

“Francis needs tighter pants…” someone snorts and I just hold tighter onto Bonnie. About four miles ago, she developed a limp and began leaning on me. Our guide, Major Odair, thinks it might be a stress fracture as they’re not uncommon here. I haven’t slept since our departure, spending the one night in the woods on guard to ensure we weren’t ambushed. We had enough people that we could trade off every few hours, but I felt too uneasy in the swamp to sleep. Instead, I stood guard from the time we made camp to just before sunrise, all the while being taunted by Major Odair.

“I thought his name was Hal?” The men named our target dummy Hal Jordan after the Green Lantern.

“Listen Major Odair, no Lantern would be this big of a pain in my ass.” I just roll my eyes. In the last ten weeks, I’ve lost most of the fat on my body, earned a black eye and stitches in my mouth. I’ve been called every synonym for ‘worthless’ and ‘failure’ and discovered that a five foot, two inch blonde can kick my ass given the chance.

A swell of pride washes over me; I did it. Not only have I successfully completed Marine OCS, but I got an unlikely candidate through as well.

* * *

I don’t listen to Haymitch’s speech about how we’ve all done something incredible, about how only a small percentage of us haven’t either elected to leave or were forced to go home because of an inability to perform or unwillingness to conform, because that’s what being a Marine is all about.

When I was eighteen, I stood in the bright yellow boot prints at Parris Island, South Carolina and had my identity stripped from me. It’s a lot for someone fresh out of high school to accept. But here, we’re all in our twenties and either enlisted or have graduated from college, so things are a little easier to accept.

I stand under the torrent of water, turning it as hot as I can stand to let the mud, grime, and general filth wash from me while relaxing my muscles. I'm lucky. I had a good group, and we all seemed to want to work together so this ordeal could be over.

I skip lunch and dinner and just hide in the barracks, trying to not let myself get too antsy. Tomorrow is Family Day. We’ll put on a show; run the course, shoot a few guns, and then I can _finally_ see my husband.

I get giddy at the thought and throw my blanket over my head as the door opens so I don’t look like a lovestruck fool. “Get up!” the cover is drawn from my face, “We’re celebrating!”

Haymitch grabs my arm and tries to lift me over his shoulder. But after weeks of getting carried, I’ve learned to resist, making my body like a limp noodle. “Can’t I just sleep?” I ask.

“Nope!” I squirm out of Haymitch’s grasp and roll over, tucking my head under my pillow. Peeta’s used to this kind of morning behavior from me, which he calls ‘ostriching’.

“My feet hurt,” I start making excuses for why I’m not going to be social tonight, “My back hurts… I’m on my period…”

The pillow is ripped from my head and comes back down sharply, “God dammit, we didn’t need to know that!” he shouts.

“Then go away!” I snap. “I didn’t sleep yesterday… Can’t I catch up so I can-“ My guard is down while I’m talking and I’m ripped from my bed against my will.

The mess hall is actually jovial. It’s a lot like Christmas and what I expect Thanksgiving was in Iraq, at least for the Army and Navy. Thanksgiving 2003 was a tense night for the Marines in Baghdad.

“So what did you get Peeta for your anniversary?” Finnick asks, digging into his food in an almost savage-like manner.

“Surviving your torment for ten weeks?” I tell him matter-of-factly.

Haymitch snorts, “Excited to go back to DC?”

I chug my water, not realizing just how dehydrated I actually am. “You mean summers where you can cut the air with a knife?” I sigh, “I’m excited that Peeta can’t be deployed, because of his leg and his job now…”

“But you’re like a Middle East magnet now… well, once you get your bars.”

“Bar, and I know that…” I sigh.

The chair next to me screeches against the linoleum and Bonnie flops down. “They don’t think it’s a stress fracture,” she says, relieved. I smile and throw my arm around her shoulders.

* * *

It takes a time of two minutes on the obstacle course in order to pass, though they want you as far under that as possible. In fact, if you could run it without the watch moving, they’d still want you to shave off some time.

“I’m going to win this time…” Cashmere tells me for the hundredth time. Every morning, she reminds me that this will be the time she's going to beat me. Now that she’s started using my innovation, she actually poses a real threat. We can finally stop wearing the heavy layers, as the winter chill has given way to spring.

“You wish,” I pull up my sleeve and flex, “You see this?”

“Yeah, I do, more bulk to keep you behind!” We're next to go. Instead of sending people one at a time, they paced us so if someone messed up, they’d piss off everyone behind them. It’s more incentive to not fuck up.

“You should see my husband,” I say, stretching out my thighs before we break out running. The course is all second nature now, when to push myself, when to vault. It’s nothing like the first time in Iraq when Peeta very deservingly teased me for forgetting just how to run one.

I slip a little on the rope. My sweaty palms combined with the palms of everyone ahead of me make the rope hard to grip, so I actually have to push with my feet. “Ha!” Cashmere laughs, ringing her bell. “Ten weeks, Mellark!” I ring mine and slide down, stumbling a little.

“I let you win!”

She nudges me with her shoulder, “Yeah, right,” I rub my arm where she hit, my muscles still confused and twitching from exertion.

* * *

_March 31, 2005_

I throw myself into Peeta’s arms, forgetting about his bad leg as I wrap my legs around his hips and hold myself as close to him as possible. “Hello to you, too…” he says, nuzzling into my neck and supporting my backside with his hands.

“I missed you so much…” I let go of the vice-like grip I have on his waist and stand on my own two feet before kissing his slightly opened mouth. Normally, I’m not one for kissing in public, but I’ll make an exception this time.

“I missed you, too… Our bed is too big without you, the dog waits by your running shoes every night, and don’t even get me started on the cat,” I get on my toes and kiss his nose before he pulls me flush against him. “Happy Anniversary…” he says, grinning.

I nuzzle into his chest, taking in his scent. “That was a few days ago… sorry I missed it,” I say flatly. His finger tilts my chin up so I’m forced to look up at him.

“We have plenty more… Plus, we can celebrate tomorrow night when we’re in our own bed… Or we can get a hotel room here…”

“We’re going home. I’m getting a shower in a real shower, I’m cuddling our dog, and I’m going to continue to get ignored by the cat.”

“Aw, isn’t that touching… Young love…” Finnick teases. I rest my forehead against my husband’s chest and hold myself to him tightly. “You remember being young, don’t you, Haymitch?”

“Fuck off, Odair, or I’ll tell the rest of Charlie about how you suck your thumb…”

“Only our friends… right?” Peeta sighs.

* * *

I’ve never been good at tying ties. The movements are awkward to me, but after a few tries, I get it right. I fold down my tan collar so my matching tie sits perfectly, then smooth out my dark green skirt and button up my plain green coat. I’ll never have a chevron on my sleeve again.

Next, I straighten out my pins. The eagles perched atop the globe in front of an anchor are a constant reminder that we’re kind of the Navy’s rebel child. “Ready?” I ask Bonnie, who’s trying to get her Garrison cap to fit nicely. “Oh, no matter how hard you try, you’ll look bad in that hat,” I remind her for the third time, putting mine on my head.

We march in formation; our perfect, even lines in step with each other to _Semper Fidelis_ as our companies are called. Electricity fills the air and grows stronger with each perfectly timed step. In a few moments, we will outrank most of the people who have broken us down over the last ten weeks and stripped us of the very layers that make us…well, us. With their shouts and torments, they have molded us into people they’re willing to be led by.

They commission us in large groups, our right hands in the air. “I, Katniss Mellark, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.” We lower our right hands and stand at attention.

“You did it!” my jaw drops as Prim crashes into me, “I knew you could!”

“You’re… but… Are you cutting classes, Primrose?” I ask, gripping her shoulders and forcing her to look at me.

“No…It’s staff development day?” she tells me innocently, a hit of questioning in her voice. “I’m your present, though… so don’t, you know, return me so soon!”

I roll my eyes at my sister and pull her to me, looking up at Peeta. “You flew my sister to Quantico from Durham for our anniversary?” He just nods, and I pull her closer to me as the tears begin to fall. “Thank you…” I mouth, holding tightly onto Prim, not knowing when I’ll see her next.

Someone clears their throat. “Who wants to do the honors?” my mother asks, “I… I’ve done this before, so I think someone else should…” I bite my lip and look at the small baggie in my mother’s hands. She has the gold bars symbolizing that I’m no longer Gunnery Sergeant Mellark, but Second Lieutenant.

“Prim should,” Peeta finally says, “Because Katniss wouldn’t be here if not for her.” I wipe my eyes as Prim pins the small gold bars to the collar of my tan shirt.

“I love you,” I don’t wait for her to finish before pulling her to me again, “And don’t tell me you’re too old.”

“I’m almost nineteen,” she sighs, patting me on my back, “You’re almost twenty-four… We’ll never outgrow shit like this…”

“Primrose!” our Mom scolds.

“Katniss!” I wipe my tears and quickly spot Bonnie, who is heading towards me. “It took me forever to find you…” I watch as her eyes find Peeta. “Oh… wow. You… Katniss has told me so much about you!”

He cocks his eyebrow, “Is that so? Well, I hope not _too_ much…” I take his hand in mine, our fingers lacing together perfectly. His thumb finds my wedding band and he looks down, “Oh wait, I almost forgot…” he says, pulling my engagement ring from his pocket and slipping it on my finger. “There, now you’re decent…”

“I’ll never be decent. But this is, well… now Lieutenant Abigail Bonnie. She’s kind of the reason I stayed sane the last ten weeks.”

“Please, you’re the reason I’m alive.” Bonnie replies.

I chuckle and lean into Peeta, “Please… you would have survived without me.” She rolls her eyes at my words. “Or slapped Atala after the thousandth time she screamed in your face…” I laugh as she shrugs.

“I have to go find my Aunt…” she says, hugging me tightly. “Thank you…” she whispers, “And we’ll be in touch!” She’s gone as quickly as she came.

* * *

“Be safe…” I hug Prim to me one last time, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…”

“So… running off to Iraq is okay?” The thought of Prim in a war zone knots up my stomach and I pull her closer, pushing the air out of her.

“No, just… No. How about you become a brain surgeon? Something safe and easy…”

“Katniss’ definition of easy is a little… flawed.” I scowl at Peeta after he says this, “But be careful, kid, men are pigs. Don’t ever let your cup out of your sight.”

“She shouldn’t be drinking at all,” my mother reminds us. It would be hypocritical of me to agree, since Gale and I were drinking at bonfires at fifteen. It was the fuel our few intimate encounters ran on.

Mom and I pass through the metal detectors without issue, but the metal keeping Peeta’s leg together sets off the detector without fail. “I can’t take him anywhere…” I sigh.

“They never believe the first three times that my leg is like… ten percent metal.” He throws his arm around my shoulder after putting his shoes back on.

“At least we know if you shove something metal up your-“ My mother covers my mouth with her hand.

“Katniss, there are children here!”

“Such a lady…” my husband sighs.

Once on the plane, I push the armrest between Peeta and I up and drape my legs over his, nuzzling into him and sleeping safely in his arms for the short flight home.

* * *

I run up the walkway to our house, having already lost my heels in the yard. “Babe!” Peeta calls as I feel my stockings tear on the rough ground. I unlock the front door and suddenly get knocked back by the dog. Her paws are on my shoulder and a warm tongue is licking the flavor from my face. “I think she missed you…” I push into the house, somewhat dancing with the dog before flopping onto the ground for a proper Phoenix assault. Peeta joins me on the ground, his head on my shoulder. “There are letters from Gale and Johanna for you on the counter. They’re both safe.”

I idly scratch behind the dog’s ears as the cat climbs into my lap. “Johanna gets back… May?” I ask. He nods and yawns.

“And Gale, I think in July… Maybe he’ll be back for the fourth?”

I shrug and take Phoenix’s head in my hands, mushing her wrinkles even more. “But we’ll be in Washington, DC, where the real party is!” Peeta shoos away the animals and picks me up off the ground, tossing me over his shoulder.

“I’ll show you where the party is…” His hand comes down hard on my backside as we’re pursued by a very energetic dog that thinks we’re playing. He locks the animals out of our room and tosses me unceremoniously onto the bed.

“Aww… she wants cuddles…” I pout as the dog starts scratching at the door.

“Phoenix! Go lay down!” I roll my eyes as he flops down on the bed. “What now?” he asks, only after the clicking of the dog’s nails stops and we hear her flop down to play with a toy.

“Get out of your clothes,” I tell him as I pull off my coat and begin unbuttoning my shirt.

“You should leave the tie on,” he asks as I throw the tan dress shirt to our growing pile of clothes. He tugs on it gently, “I like this…” I scowl at him and pull the ‘leash’ over my head.

“Not today…” He pouts before I tackle him, pushing him back down to the bed. “I don’t have a present for you… yet,” I purr, leaning down to kiss him quickly before sitting back up.

He reaches his hand up to stroke my cheek. “You’re all I want…” I lean down and catch his lips once more, running my fingers through his short hair before we break apart, “You’re all I need…”

My stomach twists, knowing that’s not true. He doesn’t say it because he knows how I feel, but someday Peeta’s going to want children. I push those thoughts away as quickly as they came and deepen the kiss, tilting my head only slightly as his tongue slips past my lips. I’ve missed his taste, sweet and lustful. His leg hooks over mine and I’m on my back.

“Dirty fighter!” I sneer as he lifts my legs up to pull my stockings off, making it easier to twist my skirt and remove that as well.

“Hey!” He grabs my hips and pulls me to him so I can sit up and get his pants off. “You’re the one not wearing underwear!”

I’m thankful Prim took another flight to Duke and my mother is at her boyfriend’s house. “They were all dirty!” He sighs and gets up, his pants falling to the floor, “I would have told you earlier… but that would have been awkward.”

He sits on the edge of the bed and I climb into his lap, not wanting to lose one moment of closeness with him. He groans, we’re so close, so dangerously close to the one thing we both want, but instead he works the pins out of my hair and shakes it loose from the bun I forgot I was wearing. “Am I to your liking?” I ask with a smirk.

He grins and kisses me quickly before taking off the last article of clothing still on me, the straps of my bra sliding down my arm. I toss it away to some forgotten corner of the room where I’ll find it on laundry day and wonder how this one got to that particular spot. “Well?” I ask when he doesn’t respond.

“I’m thinking… I can’t get a good look at you…” I get off his lap and stand.

“Well?”

“Hmm…” he ponders, getting up and tracing his finger down from my hair line to my nose and across my lips. “So far so good…” I roll my eyes and he traces my jaw, my neck and collarbones, followed by the small rise of my breasts. He brings up his other hand and I watch as he takes the small mounds of flesh in his hands. “These are still _exactly_ how I remember them…definitely.” He kisses my forehead and continues his exploration, fanning his fingers down the lines of my stomach. “Looks like I’m going to have to fatten you up again…” he sighs before dropping to his knees and propping my leg up on the bed. I try to squeeze my legs shut, embarrassed that he can see my aversion to a razor.

“Not this again…” he sighs, “Katniss…” I look away as his fingers travel up to the apex of my thighs. A shiver runs through me as he lightly strokes the dampness down there.

I run my fingers through his hair, tugging lightly just before he presses his tongue against my clit. My legs turn to jell-o and I almost feel bad for supporting most of my weight on him. But then, just as I’m getting close, he pulls away and smiles up at me.

My leg drops from the bed and I can only stand there, panting, “Why?” I cry as he stands and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Why not?” He kisses me, sweetly at first, before abandoning all restraint. I hook my fingers into the band of his boxers and tug them down, pressing my body against his. He groans as his erection presses against my stomach, the sound vibrating into my mouth from deep within him. I pull back, his hands still against my cheeks before pushing him onto the bed.

“I can’t wait,” I growl as he looks up at me, confused, since I’m almost never the one in control. He knows it’s awkward for me, but I don’t trust that he won’t continue the cheeky fuckery.

I take a moment to admire him; the sparse peppering of white scars on his arms from the ovens as a child, the definition of his muscles on his torso, and finally the long scar on his thigh. “Like what you see?” he asks, snapping me from my trance. I nod and climb up so I’m straddling him again and kiss his nose lightly before guiding him in. I gasp and he moans at the missed but familiar sensation. We’re clumsy, limbs awkwardly bumping, and our kisses missing their intended target.

It’s over too soon, or at least that’s how it feels. I’ll never get used to how Peeta can make the seams that hold me together burst and sew me back together so quickly. His lips rub up my forearm and concentrate on my neck, sucking and biting as I squirm through the aftershocks of my orgasm while his fingers still tease me, my hips jerking with each movement. “I,” My voice stops as another tremor jolts through my body, causing my mind to go blank for a second. “I love you…” I finally get out.

His pulls his face from my neck, “And I love you…”

* * *

_May 2005_

I dig my feet into the sand while sipping vodka and cranberry juice from a water bottle. Alcohol is prohibited on this beach, though that’s done nothing to stop any of us from smuggling a bar’s worth of booze in water bottles and canteens.

“That thing is going to taste like rum for years…” Johanna sighs. Fresh home from Iraq, all she wants to do is lay on the beach. It’s about as close as she can get to Gale without going back. Haymitch just shrugs and continues drinking whatever is in his tan canteen.

“Are you sure you should be drinking that in your condition?” she asks as I sink deeper into my chair.

“So I’ve put on a few pounds since getting back from OCS. I’m not pregnant.”

Johanna snorts, “Yeah, all in the tit and ass area…”

I stand up, wobbling a little. “I’m going to go find Peeta, Finnick, and the herd…” There are too many children at this point. Well, only four, which is four too many.

“Get used to chasing them!  You’re next!”

“Hey! It’s my birthday, you should probably leave me alone!” I shout back over the roar of the waves.

“That was two weeks ago!” Johanna shouts.

“They still think you’re pregnant?” Peeta asks as Daniel, now a year old, chews on sand. “Shit, Daniel!”

Finnick just sighs and takes his son, trying to get the sand out of his hands and mouth.

Sophia, like a squid, wraps her limbs around my leg. “Uncle Peeta said a bad word!”

I grin, “Because Uncle Peeta is a bad, bad boy… And what do we do to bad boys?”

Sophia looks at me and thinks; I can almost see the gears in her head going. “We spank them!” she squeals.

I watch the emotions wash over Finnick; first shock, then disbelief, and finally amusement. “I’m sure she will tonight, just for you!” he chuckles.

I cover her ears with my hands. “Finnick Odair, you’re an ass, but I take comfort knowing that in a day you’ll be changing a diaper full of sand.”

Sophia squirms from my hands. “No more earmuffs!” she scolds.

* * *

_June 2005_

“Phoenix, leave the cat alone!” I twist and look into the back seat as a little white paw goes for the dog’s face for the hundredth time. She huffs and curls up.

“He’ll let Buttercup beat on him… but take on the dog?” Peeta asks, throwing the car into park. I shrug and untangle her leash, clipping it on her collar.

“I never said he was smart…”

Our new home doesn’t have much in the way of furniture. A bed and our dressers to start, but soon couches make the living room less empty. A table and chairs are tucked into the corner of our kitchen.

“I haven’t seen the cat in a few days… Did he run out?”

Peeta looks up from his book, apparently he’s moved on to teaching himself Russian. “He’s under the bed. He came out when I fed him this morning and ran back.” Phoenix took to the move like a duck to water, but Amal is still confused and probably thinks this is where he’ll die.

I come up from behind Peeta and wrap my arms around him, kissing his neck. “You know… we haven’t christened this couch yet…” I whisper. The book snaps closed and he looks up, just as we hear a knock at the door. We’ve been in DC for four days and the neighbors have left us alone, which is amazing. In Jacksonville, if someone wasn’t in the house, there was someone knocking on the door for something.

“Can I get a rain check on that?” he asks. I sigh as he stands, following him to the door. Phoenix is already sniffing under it, trying to see if she knows the person. I grab her collar and pull her back as Peeta opens the door.

“Sorry, were we interrupting something?” the man asks.

“No, not at all, we we’re just getting settled.  Can I help you?” Peeta asks.

“Oh! We just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood! My name’s Cinna, and this is my wife, Portia.”


	34. She Never Cried In Front of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, let me apologize in advance. 
> 
> The entire time I was writing this, I listened to Toby Keith’s She Never Cried In Front of Me. I had completely forgotten about this song until it came up on shuffle on my iPod and nearly peed myself because it’s perfect for this chapter. 
> 
> Also, you’ll notice it’s from a different POV, I wasn’t comfortable writing this chapter from Katniss’s perspective, though she will return in chapter 35, which begins Part 3: Commitment.
> 
> Most importantly, thank you Chelzie for keeping me sane while writing this and listing to me go crazy over google chat and skype. (Also for not openly judging me)

_June 2005_

(Peeta)

I don’t particularly enjoy having two nineteen-year-olds in the apartment, especially since I barely know one of them, but it’s important to Katniss. She has been moody lately and I stupidly forgot that June would be a rough month for her. It is, after all, the month when her father died. So when Prim and Rory asked to come up to spend the week with us, I reluctantly agreed. Unfortunately, Prim can’t be here for the actual anniversary of their father’s death, which is probably for the best. Katniss spends the whole day in bed under the covers. We don’t have to work since it's Sunday, which gives her the freedom to grieve more without prying eyes. It also gives me the ability to make sure she eats and doesn’t slip into a PTSD episode, which these days are few and far between.

The biggest problems with having two teenagers staying with you are one, worrying about what they’re hearing, and two, trying to figure out what you’re hearing.

“Hey, umm… Peeta?”

“Yeah, Rory?” I ask without looking up from the paper.

“What does a tampon look like?”

It takes me a second to recover. “Um, like a tube of cotton with a string attached…”

“Oh… okay… then this is definitely a pregnancy test,” he says, which gets my attention. The poor kid’s face is nothing but shocked as he holds the thin piece of white plastic by a wad of toilet paper. I’ve been trained to detect subtle hints of anxiety in individuals. Rory stands stoically, but his eye movements, tense jaw, and flexing of the hands indicate that he is paralyzed by fear.

“Well, are you and Prim…?” I ask as the dog sits at his feet, waiting for him to drop the stick. She must have fished it out of the trash.

I don’t know much about Rory, only that Katniss trusted he and her sister to be alone in the apartment for eight hours while we were at work two days ago. Suddenly, he pales. “I- I can’t be a _Dad!_ ”

“Listen, just…” I pause, “What does it say?”

“I don’t know! One of them peed on this!” He sits down at the table, the white stick in between us.

The key on the test is clear, an oval with two lines for pregnant, an oval with one line for not pregnant. I tilt it towards me, seeing one bold pink line and a lighter one. “Listen… Kid…” My voice trails off as I run my hands over my buzzcut. I hear Katniss and Prim laughing, their soft footsteps on the old stairs. “We’ll talk about this later.” I do the best thing I can think of and shove the offending piece of plastic in my pocket. I’ll just pretend it doesn’t exist until I can at least talk to my wife about it. I know Katniss, and pouncing on her about any topic is a good way to get sent to the doghouse. But ever since Phoenix pissed in the apartment, I don’t think there’s much room left for me.

“No, I swear! It was all Bristel!” Katniss says as the door opens. I’m not sure she knows it, but you can tell when Katniss is opening the door. She twists the knob quickly and shoves in, letting it snap back into place with a loud click. It’s honestly the only way you can tell when she’s coming, as years of hunting and months of training make her damn near silent when she walks. She tried to explain to me how you have to bend your knee some when setting your foot down. She does it so naturally. “Don’t give me that look! It was-“ Prim stops, seeing our expressions.  “Did you two see a ghost? See, Katniss, this old building has to be haunted!”

The door across the hall opens. Cinna and Portia’s tiny little fluff balls bolt out the door. “Audrey! Elizabeth!” I hear them call. Phoenix meets them halfway before charging into the other apartment.

“I’ll get her…” Katniss grumbles.  Phoenix is definitely on her shit list. “Phoenix!” Portia follows her inside while the three dogs raise hell.

The other door closes. “Prim, did you take a pregnancy test?” I pry, ripping her attention away from the noise across the hall.

“What? God no! Why? Did _you_ take one?”

“Katniss…” I breathe, “Katniss is pregnant…” But how? She’s religious about taking her pill. Prim’s face goes from confusion to panic.

“No, she’s not… Wait, are you sure?”

“I pulled a pregnancy test out of the dog’s mouth…” Prim’s face lights up and she practically tackles me.

“I’m going to be an aunt!” she screeches. I know I should be ecstatic and beside myself with joy, but I can’t be. Katniss wants nothing to do with children, they terrify her. Plus, we’re both still so young.

“Yeah… why don’t you and Rory go for a walk?”

Katniss comes back a minute or so after Rory and Prim leave. “Where’d they go?” she asks, letting go of the dog’s collar. Phoenix lingers for a second before running off to chase the cat.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I blurt out. _Great choice of words, Peeta, ease her right into the conversation._

Her eyebrow arches, “Tell you… what?”

“Oh… I don’t know… maybe that I’m going to be a Dad?”

Any hint of amusement falls from her face. “You’re not…” she says, looking out the window. _What?_

My heart stops. It it hers, and I’m not the father? “You’re cheating on me?” The words leave my mouth without thinking.

Her eyes widen. “What? No! How could you? Peeta, I’m not pregnant!”

I pull the test out of my pocket and show it to her.  “Then I guess the dog is, because if it’s not Prim’s and you’re not pregnant…” She rushes over and grabs the test from me.

Her tan skin grows ashy, hints of green on her cheeks. “Oh… shit,” she mutters, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh God!” She runs to the bathroom and I hear the toilet seat go up roughly while I stand frozen in place.

 _I’m going to be a Dad…_ The sound of Katniss’ retching breaks me from my trance and I rush into the bathroom.

“Shhh… It’s okay…” I rub her back and keep her hair from the mess. She reaches up to flush and sits with her back against the wall. “It’ll be okay…” She’s cold and clammy and when I try to touch her, she jerks away.

“I’m so stupid!” she hisses, pressing the heel of her hand to her eyes. This breaks my heart. How can I be excited watching my wife be destroyed by this? “I took the test and it said negative, now…” she explains, letting herself fall to the ground. Slowly, she presses her cheek against the cool tile, “Please… don’t be mad at me…”

The demand lingers in the air for a few minutes. “I just wish we could be happy about this…” I mumble. How could we be happy? Two days ago, we got a letter saying that Katniss will going back to Iraq. Yes, she is an Officer, but I am with an Officer, captive. Just because you have your bars doesn’t mean you’re safe. It’s not like she can go overseas while pregnant or even immediately after. But a few months after giving birth, she would be able to be deployed. I’m considered non-deployable, though I’ve been told that if a sensitive situation arises, I could be sent overseas in a non-combat role.  I’ve been warned that a trip to Germany might be in my near future.

She sighs and stares blankly at me. “Maybe it didn’t stick,” she sighs again. “I thought I got my period today… maybe it didn’t stick…” She seems so emptied by this, almost as if the two pink lines have taken all of her fire away. I cringe as a tear runs down the side of her face onto the floor.

I realize later that night that she thinks she’s having a miscarriage, and I have no idea how to handle this. She doesn’t have a gynecologist yet. The next morning, when the receptionist at her old office says they can squeeze her this afternoon once we’re off base, I’m relieved. We don’t talk about the baby, if there is still one. Prim and Rory vacate the apartment early to visit the museums while they can. Besides, if anyone knows when Katniss is in a mood, it’s Prim. I’ve learned in our short year of marriage that sometimes she just needs space to ride out her myriad of emotions.

“Please don’t hate me…” she finally says.

“I could never hate you, Katniss… just…” I sigh. “Like I said last night, I want to be able to be _happy_ about this, not just sit at home ignoring it. I don’t like knowing that you thought you were pregnant and hid it from me. I’m your husband.” I realize I _am_ angry at her, though she seems broken by the whole topic. “You can’t keep shit from me, especially when it’s this important…”

She just sighs and opens her door when I throw the truck in park. “You don’t tell me about work…” she tells me idly.

“I’m sorry I can’t share classified information with you,” I snap. She doesn’t flinch at my tone, though I do. She just stares at me. I know a baby is the last thing she wants right now, but she could at least put on a face. My stomach sinks, sickened by the thought of Katniss putting on a face just for my benefit. How could I even want that?

“You can’t even pee in the White House without it being recorded. There isn’t a room in that building that I couldn’t get in or out of undetected. When you walk by it, there’s a gun trained on you. Outside the gate, I mean,” she says, irritated. “Remember Clinton? That guy outside the fence with the gun? Try being on top of that building for eight hours a day with a gun in the Maryland summer heat. You’re pointing said gun at civilians or in their vicinity, just because one guy last decade went nuts.” She opens the door and walks into the clinic, without propping it open for me.

They have her drink enough water to make her uncomfortable but comically squirm on the bench. I nervously lean forward from my chair next to the table and pull out a long bar with a plastic cup in the end. “What is this?” I ask idly.

“It’s called a stirrup. You put your feet in them and then the doctor sticks his hand up your cooch,” Katniss says, smiling a little. _Finally!_

“We should get these for home…” I tease. She puts her cold hand on my face and pushes me back.

“Are we going to get speculums as well?” She realizes quickly I have no idea what she’s talking about. “They’re like… spreaders for down there…”

My shock over the idea that someone sat there and decided this device needed to be made is put on the back burner as the doctor enters. At her presence, everything about Katniss’ demeanor quickly changes. She’s no longer angry or upset. The brief bit of humor is gone from her face and something far more foreign and sinister takes its place, fear. It’s the one thing she’s learned to hide. I want to hold her, but she’s already talking with the doctor. I stay seated and try to listen.

“So when was your last regular menstrual cycle?”

Katniss bites her lip, “Um…” she starts counting on her fingers, “I think… the second week of February.” She looks down, “Yeah, it was my second week of OCS. I’m bleeding now, only it’s like… two weeks too early.”

Dr. Ferrier, as her lab coat reads, nods. “When did you take the pregnancy test?

“Last night. I waited the three minutes and it was negative. Then well… who found it, you or Rory?”

“Actually, it was Phoenix. She was chewing on it. Poor Rory had to pry it out of her mouth, and then I think he aged like… five years?”

She leans back into the teal leather of the table. “He thought it was Prim’s?” I just nod.

“How long after you took the test did…”

“Our dog, Phoenix,” I tell her.

“Oh, good, I was afraid it was a child…” Katniss laughs nervously. “Well, how long did it take her to find it? They can read false positives after ten minutes or so…”

“Katniss and her sister had been out of the apartment for maybe five minutes…”

“I took it right before we left…” Katniss mumbles. “Can I pee now?”

Dr. Ferrier shakes her head. “Well, let’s get an ultrasound to see if you actually are pregnant or if it’s a false positive. Then you can pee all you want.”

The second the doctor has Katniss lean back, she grabs my hand and squeezes it. I’ve seen fear like this on her face before, only this time we aren’t behind enemy lines with a building ready to collapse on us.

“So how long have you two been married?” the doctor asks idly while pressing a wand onto Katniss’ stomach. She winces a little and bites her lip.

“A year at the end of March,” I tell her.

She nods and I squeeze Katniss’s hand, spinning her rings around nervously. “Ah, there we go…” She leans into the monitor some before tilting it towards us. It’s grainy and I’m not exactly sure what we’re looking at. It looks more like a jellybean with twigs than a baby, “One second…” Dr. Ferrier hits a few keys and a wooshing noise comes from the computer.

“Is that its heartbeat?” Katniss asks.

The doctor shakes her head, “No, that’s yours.” I feel my wife’s palms get clammy, “Now, it’s early still…”

“I take my pill the same time every single day. The only time I missed it was the first week of April. I only brought eight weeks of pills to OCS,” Katniss blurts out.

“No antibiotics?”

“None…” Katniss says, looking at the screen.

“Have you been having any cramping or back aches?”

Katniss nods and bites her lip harder. As it turns out, Katniss was right. Shortly after she came home from OCS, we had made a baby. Twelve weeks later, unbeknownst to all of us, it ‘didn’t stick’.

* * *

We return to the doctor’s office two days later to get whatever’s left removed so Katniss doesn’t get ill. She refuses, against the doctor’s recommendation, to be put under anesthesia.

“Are you positive? Now’s your last chance…” she shifts uneasily in her hospital gown, having already been warned about the psychological effects.

“I’ve had worse…” This is her “go-to” phrase whenever anything is wrong. She could take a bullet to the stomach and would say the same thing. I try and stay with her but get chased out.

“I love you…” Katniss looks up at me, misty-eyed. “I’m so sorry…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for…” I tell her.

It’s a quick procedure, and they’re in and out of the room in ten minutes. Once we arrive back at home, Katniss rushes to the bedroom. “You should go in and be with her,” Prim tells me from the kitchen.

I don’t need to be told twice. Katniss has huddled herself under the down comforter we keep on the top shelf of the closet. She’s made herself small, her knees all the way up to her chin. She stiffens when I lay down next to her, but eventually relaxes. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” she whispers.

“Katniss!” She stiffens at my voice, “I’m sorry, but please, this isn’t your fault. These things happen…”

“You and I are perfectly healthy twenty-four-year-olds. We eat well and exercise regularly. I did something and it killed your child…” she snaps.

My heart breaks, each of her words putting another crack in it. I think about all the lifting and carrying we did when we moved in. Katniss insisted that we didn’t need to hire movers, that we could get the furniture up the stairs ourselves. “I should’ve had you take a test the second everyone started teasing you about being pregnant. They all knew.”

“What kind of woman doesn’t know she’s pregnant?” she asks.

I pull her closer to me. “Stop blaming yourself! I put you in this position, if it wasn’t for me…”

She inhales sharply. “It hurts,” she finally cries.

I kiss the back of her head. “I know, baby, I know…” I say soothingly as a sob escapes her. “It’ll all be okay…”

She dozes off and it isn’t until I hear her deep breathing that I let myself join her.

“No!” she shouts, which causes me to snap awake. Katniss has moved out of my arms and onto the floor. The sheet is off the bed and tangled around her neck. I quickly tug her free.

“Babe?” I ask, but she screams again. Her eyes are open but unfocused, tears streaming down her cheeks, “Shit…” I mutter. Getting her out of wherever her mind is will take some work.

I take her into my arms, but she screams as if I lit her on fire. “Please stop!” she cries before her hands go to her neck, clawing as if she’s being choked. Her eyes are wide open, her mouth agape, gulping for air that her brain isn’t letting her take in.

“Katniss! Snap out of it, it’s not real!” I pull her closer to me, cradling her head against my chest, “Please, come back to me… Please!” Suddenly she gasps and looks up at me, her eyes focusing on my face. “There she is…” I say softly, brushing her hair from her face. “Do you want…?”

“Yes…” I lift her onto the bed and grab the seldom used pill bottle from the dresser, handing her a little green pill. “Can you… can you get Prim?” she asks meekly. I just nod.

Normally Katniss falls asleep soon after taking her ‘in case of emergency’ meds, but somehow she fights it. She walks through the apartment like a ghost for the rest of the day, only half occupying the room, her mind in a drug induced stupor that keeps her from the unnecessary guilt and flashbacks.

* * *

_August 2005_

“I’m so glad by the time they get up here, hurricanes barely exist…” Katniss sighs, shoveling cereal in her mouth. Getting a complete sentence out of her since the miscarriage is like pulling teeth. It’s like she’s put a shell up around herself. “They should have picked my name for this one… who names a storm Katrina?”

I kiss her temple. “I’ll get you the number of the guy in charge of naming storms. You can call him tonight…”

Unfortunately, we don’t realize just how severe Katrina is until we’ve pulled our fifth body out of a flooded house. “We have a live one!” someone shouts. It’s the only good news we get. They’ve set up make-shift morgues all over the city. It’s a woman, still breathing but unconscious, “Lieutenant!”

Katniss is completely out of it. They want to send her home, but desperately need officers here and the Marines haven’t sent many. Most of the post-storm aid post came from the National Guard, but we are all here. “We have two diseased, one live, my location,” she says. There’s nothing in her voice, just the shell she’s wearing, the façade of an ideal Marine Officer.

I watch as she slips through a basement window. “Damn man, how do you stand it?” a man asks.

It takes me a minute to realize everyone’s eyes are on me. “Stand what, the smell?” The heat and stagnant water do nothing for the nauseating smell of decomposition. We’re technically on a rescue mission, though we all knew as the days pass, finding anyone alive becomes less and less likely.

“No, your wife. I’d never let my woman outrank me…” he smirks, “Or act like such a cold-“ I grab him by his shirt.

“Mind your own fucking business, Hasson. My _wife_ outranks all of us because she has the guts to go for it. Now you’re going to start showing her and every other woman you see here respect, or _she_ will kick your ass.” Most men would be emasculated to admit that their wife can throw punches with the best of them, that they don’t need defending. Instead, it fills me with pride. Private Hasson smirks, “Then I’ll have a go.”

I let him go just as Katniss slides up and out of the window. “There’s nothing down there…” she says, wiping the mud from her hands onto her pants. “Sergeant Mellark, anyone get back to you on that MedEvac?” It’s all business with her anymore.

“Not yet, Lieutenant,” I reply. She could have easily stayed at the command post, monitoring movements. Instead, she prefers to be out walking around because it keeps her mind and body busy. It's grim work, but seems to make her happy and that's enough.

Once we return home, after seeing more bloated bodies with slippery waxy skin and peaceful faces than anyone ever should, I give her the space she needs to stay happy and let her dive into her work.

* * *

_February 2006_

When we first moved to DC, we were side by side, always on the same page. The second we lost the baby, we took our first steps apart. Every day after that, the steps continued until we are pressed up on opposite walls of the apartment, cohabiting but not living together, though we put on a good act.

“My brother’s getting married…” I tell her over dinner. She nods and feeds the dog a piece of chicken. “You don’t have to go, I’m sure I could tell them you couldn’t get off… Or…”

She looks up at me, hurt. “Why wouldn’t I go to your brother’s wedding?”

_Maybe because we’re strangers? Because I have no idea who I’m married to at this point and I’m sure you feel the same way? Because the second we show up there, my mother’s going to dig into you about having a baby and I don’t want my brother’s wedding ruined?_

“I just figured you wouldn’t want to make the trip…”

She nods, “I don’t mind…”

“Are you sure? You’re going back overseas in two months…” We’ve known she would be going back, it was inevitable. It’s just another wedge between us at this point. “It’s only a week before you’re deployed.”

“Good, I’ll get to see my family before I go over.”

* * *

_March 2006_

Our anniversary comes and goes. We act like we’re happy and go out to dinner, and I buy her a new computer for her deployment. She indulges my newest hobby; well, old hobby, but it’s the only stress reliever I have.

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Mhm!” I don’t know how much it cost her, but in our spare bedroom she’s set up everything so I have a small art studio. “I was… I was wondering if you could…” she looks away, “Draw me so you have… you know, something to remember how I look?”

I do draw her, but it’s her from our first time in DC, back before she became this stranger. From before all the fire was sucked out of her.

“I remember this,” she smiles faintly. “Why didn’t you want something… current?”

_Because I don’t want to remember you like this._

I just shrug, “The outfit stuck out in my mind…”

* * *

_April 2006_

“You’re wearing a dress?” I ask, incredulous. Katniss has an amazing body, but still covers herself with her arms. The silky red fabric hugs every one of her curves, or at least makes her look like she has them.

“I…” she bites her lip, “Cinna convinced me?” She digs her thumbs under the bust line, the silky red fabric clinging to her skin like a glove. She’d be tugging the thing up all night, but I don’t mind. Even this little bit of her touching herself is more than I’ve gotten since our anniversary, and a hell of a lot more than before that.

It isn’t an elaborate wedding, and let’s face it, none are around here. Andrew Mellark is getting married to a nurse from the hospital in Wilkes-Barre, a smiling redhead named Tiffany Branton. I wanted to warn him that everything can go so wrong so fast. You could be happy, enjoying every moment with your wife and then two seconds later, waiting for the word divorce to come into play.

We’re good at putting on a show, pretending to still be so in love. The only one to notice, or at least to come forward about how something seems off, is my mother. “Can I borrow my son from you, dear?”

Katniss looks up at me and nods, “Just return him in one piece.” She feigns a smile and goes to sit with her best friend from high school, Madge Undersee, who’s chatting with the person I’ve been avoiding all night - my high school girlfriend and first, Delly Cartwright.

Mom pulls me outside, well out of Katniss’ earshot. “What the hell is going on between you two?”

“We’re fine, we’re just on edge. She’s going back to Iraq and…”

My mother isn’t one to be fooled. “That’s not it. When she was sick before you got married, you were all protective, and now…”

Suddenly, I break, as I haven’t been able to talk with _anyone_. We told no one about the miscarriage. Prim and Rory promised not to tell anyone, and I haven’t been able to ask for advice on how to fix my failing marriage because it’s hard to ask people how to fix things with their commanding officer. “Last summer, Katniss miscarried. She’s been a different person ever since,” I think a second, “We both have. Then Katrina hit and she started going back to normal, well… less like a zombie because she had a purpose down in Louisiana. Once we got back, I gave her some space for her to figure herself out. Now, if she’s not at work, she’s bringing it home or is down at Quantico doing some training or teaching…” I pause, finally looking up at my mother. “It’s like we’re strangers, or just roommates who happen to spend the night in the same bed. I just want her happy, Mom, I really do. I just… I don’t know what to do. She’s going overseas for eight months. Is there going to be anything to fix when she gets back?”

My mother listens as I get it all out, letting me rant for the first time about just how broken we are. “I can’t help but think we rushed into things, or that we don’t know how to handle our relationship when our lives aren’t on the line. We’ve pulled through a lot, though all of those were extreme circumstances. My being captured, her PTSD… we don’t know how to handle normal relationship issues.”

Mom reaches her hand up and gives my shoulder a squeeze, “Have you tried seeing someone? They have people for these issues…”

“Mom, she only sees her therapist to get her prescriptions refilled. She says she doesn’t like a stranger knowing her private life. Do you _really_ think Katniss is going to go see someone she doesn’t know about our disaster of a marriage?”

She nods slowly and I hear the door close. God, I hope it isn’t Katniss. “Have you thought of…” my mother’s voice trails off.

“Divorce? Yeah… a lot. If it’ll make her happy, I’ll do it…” That’s what it comes down to, really.  I’m willing to sacrifice my own happiness if it’s what will make her happy.

“Well… if you don’t think she’ll do what needs to be done in order to fix things, you might want to consider divorce…”

When we get back to DC, I don’t press the topic. How could I? _Hey honey, let’s stop pretending our marriage is working and split. Or, I know you’re completely uncomfortable with this, but let’s maybe go see someone? Oh and by the way, have fun in Iraq!_

The day before her departure, she comes out of the bedroom in nothing but the pale orange silk nightgown that Cinna and Portia gave her for our anniversary, saying that we’re old enough to keep it classy now. The color is so light that it’s almost peach. She snakes her arms over my shoulders and begins attacking my neck with her lips. All of a sudden, the zest for life, the fire in her heart is back and it’s beautiful. For a few brief moments, we’re the naive sergeants in DC so enamored by each other and can’t keep their hands to themselves. We cease to be the platonic husband and wife who just seem to float around each other, never making contact.

We hold each other close, hurrying nothing. Each caress has meaning, every kiss says something… and that’s goodbye.

We lay together, our hearts and breathing in perfect sync. There’s almost hope that we could fix things, that when she comes back there will still be pieces to pick up. Then she says it, poking the elephant in the room. “Maybe… maybe your mother was right… maybe you’re right…” She climbs off me and pulls the nightgown over her head.

“What do you mean?” I ask as my heart sinks. _Did she overhear at the wedding?_

“What you said outside. Delly was giving me the stink eye, so I went to find you. I heard what you were saying to your Mom about divorce. About us getting a divorce. Maybe…” she bites her lip. _How much did she overhear?_ “Maybe it would be for the best. You’ll be… you can be happy.” She refuses to look at me.

“Wait, are you fucking kidding me?” She jumps a little at my words. “Then what was that? Test driving me to see if you still love me?” She jumps again.

“No… No…” Her voice is soft, as if she’s trying to calm an animal. “It’s just…”

I stand up, pulling on my pants. “Did you get what you needed from me, Katniss?”

She just blinks. “No… Peeta, that’s not it, I-“

I stop her, unable to listen to her excuses. “Is this what you want? Do you want a divorce?” I try to keep my voice low so the neighbors don’t hear.

“No, Peeta… I just want you to be happy, and I don’t think I can make you happy anymore…”

“Can’t or won’t, Katniss? We should have never gotten to this point! When everything started going bad, we should have fixed things. But instead, you ran from them. How has Quantico been all this time? Because let me tell you, our marriage has been just _wonderful._ ”

“Go to hell, Peeta…” she says, standing up. “Just go to hell!” She slams the door to our bedroom and locks it. No more than five minutes later, she comes out looking disheveled in her fatigues, one boot tucked, the other with the pant leg over it. She’s tucking her shirt in while trying to balance her two bags. I watch her grab her keys and head out the door. The dog comes out of the bedroom, realizing something is wrong. I envy the poor, innocent dog; not a worry in the world other than her next meal or where she’s dropped her toy. The cat, having grown more antisocial as Katniss withdrew, won’t even say goodbye to her.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

She doesn’t look at me as she throws open the hall closet and pulls out her last bag. It has all of her tactical gear that doesn’t fit with her clothes and a gun case. “Iraq, Peeta. I’m going to Iraq.”

She stands awkwardly, the strap sliding from her shoulder. She has to set down her case twice in order to get it. “Let me help you…” I offer.

“Fuck off!” she snaps. “Fuck off, Peeta! You want your divorce? Go file for it! Mail me the papers!” And that’s our goodbye. Most couples in our position would usually spend their night together wrapped in each other’s arms, trying to get every last second in.

Phoenix and I watch as Katniss throws her bag in the back of her car and wipes her face with her hands. She throws me one last look and I see it. For the first time since we lost the baby, she’s crying.

The strings on my heart tug with the knowledge that the events of the last few months could have been avoided if one of us had chosen not to swerve in the game of chicken we’ve been playing. If only one of us had been brave.

End Part 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Courage: 
> 
> Courage is the mental, moral and physical strength ingrained in Marines. It carries them through the challenges of combat and helps them overcome fear. It is the inner strength that enables a Marine to do what is right; to adhere to a higher standard of personal conduct; and to make tough decisions under stress and pressure.


	35. Karmah's a Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3: Commitment 
> 
> Summary: The last thing she said to him before leaving was to file for divorce. Now halfway across the world, repairing her marriage is the least of Second Lieutenant Katniss Everdeen Mellark(?) concerns, especially when she’s thrown from bed at least once a week by a VBED. It will take something big to bring these two back together, though they’ll never run out of obstacles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commitment: Total dedication to Corps and Country. Gung-ho Marine teamwork. All for one, one for all. By whatever name or cliché, commitment is a combination of (1) selfless determination and (2) a relentless dedication to excellence. Marines never give up, never give in, never willingly accept second best. Excellence is always the goal. And, when their active duty days are over, Marines remain reserve Marines, retired Marines, or Marine veterans. There is no such thing as an ex-Marine or former-Marine. Once a Marine, always a Marine. Commitment never dies.
> 
>  
> 
> Reference link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Al-Karmah

_April 2006_

I just stare over the steering wheel. Did that really just happen? Did I really just leave my husband? Somehow, my auto-pilot has led me to Quantico where I’m scheduled to report any time after seven. Though, at four in the morning, the place is already bustling with activity. I hand my ID to the guard and he runs it. "Good morning, Lieutenant," he replies. I just nod and stop dead in my tracks when I see the North Carolina license plate. I know this car. "Haymitch..." I mutter, rushing from the far lot to the main building where I'll get my last physical before deployment. One last height check, weight check, and pregnancy test, then I'll have the rest of afternoon to piss around.

"Where are you, you drunk son of a bitch..." I grumble after handing off my bags. "Has Lieutenant Colonel Abernathy been through here?"

"Yeah, he got here last night. Should be in the barracks," the guard says and I nod. It was a long walk, but I needed to know what he was doing here. My phone starts ringing. At first I think to ignore it, but it's who I'm looking for.

"You're getting colder, Sweetheart."

"Don't you have a family?"

"My guys go to Iraq, so do I," he tells me. It’s the moral obligation of an Officer. If your Marines go overseas, you’d better be there with them.

The line goes dead and a heavy arm pushes down on my shoulder. "You're early."

"I'm perfectly on time," I grumble.

We sit in the vacant chow hall together. "So where is he?"

"Not coming," I snap.

"Your _husband_ didn't come to see you off to Iraq?"

"My soon-to-be ex-husband is probably sound asleep back at our apartment..."

"You don't honestly believe that, do you, Sweetheart?" I shrug but don't answer, "Whatever happened between you two..." he sighs, "He'll be up sick until you're home again. You’d better come back alive or that boy will never forgive himself."

"I... I wanted to show him I still love him tonight, and he accused me of using him..."

Haymitch doesn't say anything, choosing not to press for information. I admit, that's what I like the most about him.

"You sure you're alright in the head enough to go back?"

I shrug, "I'm not letting my girls go without me... plus, you guys need me back in Fallujah. I'm the best damned shot this base has ever seen."

I don't get sick on the flight over to Iraq this time. Nine hours of bullshitting with the people I'd be spending the next seven months with until I pass out somewhere over the Atlantic. According to Haymitch, Gale and Finnick are in a forward operations base (FOB) out in Al-Anbar, where I'll be heading the second I land.

An FOB, roughly translates into English as no air-conditioning, sleeping outside and the constant threat of attack. Hell, I'll be lucky if I can get letters out to Mom and Prim... or my inevitable divorce papers.

_Ugh... How does this even work?_

Abernathy and I have one day in Fallujah before we’re off to our new home, an FOB just outside of Al-Karmah.  Karmah, as we called it, is a strategic site not just for Coalition forces, but Al-Qaeda as well since it sits halfway between Fallujah and Baghdad. My job there will be to lead sweeps of buildings, looking for insurgent leaders that will most likely be long gone or ready with an arsenal of AK's, IED's and personal armies.

Dreamland is full of memories that I just wish I could run from or at least forget. I pass by Peeta's room on my way to Abernathy’s. I can't be alone; there's just so much of us still here.

My lips tug up in a sick excuse for an actual smile, remembering the first night we slept together before sex, marriage and a miscarriage tore us apart.

"Can I help you?"

I snap out of my daydream. "Sorry Private, just remembering the man who used to occupy this room..."

The PFC nods, "Was he a good man?"

I nod and smile, "He's the best. Unfortunately, he got mixed up with the wrong woman."

_And now he can be happy... He'll find some civilian and be happy..._

I kick Abernathy out of his bed and pass out. It's a quality, uneasy sleep I won't have the luxury of for the next seven months. I've been told to get ready for “come as you are” attacks where you quickly throw on your helmet and Kevlar to defend the base.

I dream of our first night together, when I dove out of Peeta's bed, whining about "sex hair".

* * *

There's really isn’t much to an FOB; an outer wall topped with barbed wire and two actual buildings, one for command and the other for medical and food. There are no frills here.

"Who is our CO here, Haymitch?" I ask.

"I think Boggs?" he says, looking off into the distance. Recently, word got back to the States that Al-Anbar was a lost cause because Al-Qaeda's hold in the villages and tribes is too strong for us to fight against.

"I can't wait to get me some insurgents..." someone says as we get our bags.

Haymitch and I exchange sympathetic glances as the Corporal and a few privates go on, talking about who's going to get a kill first.

I attempt to stop and tell them to shut the hell up; having blood on your hands is like having an elephant sitting on your shoulders. Unfortunately, some of us have more than one person's blood on our hands. I myself have at least eight, though at a certain point you just stop counting and let the weight press more.

A short redhead walks up to the cocky Corporal, grabs him by his collar and shoves him up against the Humvee. "You think that's funny, Corporal Marcus?"

"No, Staff Sergeant!" he hastily replies.

"I hear you talk like that again, you'll be cleaning the latrine for the next seven months..."

They walk away, leaving Abernathy and I stunned. "I like her..." I tell him, "What's her name?"

"Staff Sergeant Scotts. She-"

I cut him off. "She was there the night we rescued Annie, Johanna, Enobaria and Peeta..."

"She's usually pretty quiet..."

I follow Scotts. _What is her name... Lindsay... no, it was a plant. Larkspur? No, that's not it..._

"Laurel!" I shout, "Wait up!"

She turns in my direction, grinning when she sees me. Yep, it's her - same fox-like face and sly eyes. "Evening, Everdeen, enjoying the show?"

"Actually... It's Mellark, at least for now..."

"So you and..."

"Yeah. So you're my Sergeant?"

"Yeah... and welcome to Karmah, happiest place on earth," she smiles. "Oh wait, that's Disneyland. Welcome to hell, Lieutenant."

Just because I'm an officer doesn't mean I get special living quarters. There are two tents, a large one housing the men, and a small one for the females. Somehow, this FOB has a septic tank, so I’ve lucked out there. We have to share the showers with the men, though. Females are allowed to shower from 0600-0700 and 1800-1900, while the men go an hour after us.

My cot is a little further away from most of the other women. I have a footlocker at the base of my bed for my belongings, and a stand up locker where I hide my guns and everything else that doesn't fit in my footlocker.

"Mellark!" It’s Major Odair.

"Catnip!" And Gale too.

I flop down on the bed. "Go away!" I yell as they beat at the side of the tent.

"No, seriously, Command, now!"

I look around the tent, everyone's either sleeping or unpacking. But not me, as real life starts now. I can't focus on my train wreck of a marriage, or how at any time an insurgent force could attack. Instead, I pull myself out of bed where my pseudo family waits impatiently. "Took you long enough, what were you doing?"

I roll my eyes, "Changing my tampon." That'll shut them up.

Colonel Boggs, finally out of the States, is a no-nonsense man. I had picked up on this the day I met him, back before war and reality came into my life.

"I trust that all of you have met before," Boggs starts. It's nice knowing that all of the officers here with me are ones I can trust. This will make the next few months easier. We talk about houses we have intel on, where suspected Al-Qaeda leaders are in with direct lines of fire on our little base about an hour away from backup.

"Well, they haven't actually rushed the base," he continues, pulling up a map. "We're here," he circles the outline of the base. "Last attack, they had a suicide vehicle borne explosive device (VBED) drive to the north gate. Fortunately, something went wrong and the truck blew up."

Pictures are passed around; a giant crater filled with blown up car bits, no body to be recovered.

"Where do they find these people?"

"Convention?" Gale asks.

"Yeah... I don't think so. Is Al-Anbar as bad as they say back home?"

Boggs just shrugs. "Paylor's under the impression that the people are ready to rise up. They're calling it the “Anbar Awakening.” I'm still skeptical, but apparently the tribes are pissed that Al-Qaeda is using their own people for a cause they don't believe in," he shakes his head, dismissing the thought. "The second anyone from Al-Karmah, or any of these villages for that matter, are fighting alongside us is when I'll believe in Paylor's _Anbar Awakening_. But all kidding aside, I need at least two people on each post. That being said, we have the manpower to do it after some officers step up and take a post."

"I'll take midday, north gate," I volunteer.

"That's where they've been attacking."

I shrug in response. "Good, chances are I won't get bored."

It's quiet, too quiet. For a week, I'm starting to think we're less of an FOB and more of a very uncomfortable campground. That is, until everything goes straight to hell.

* * *

Nine is an unlucky number for me. I had been in Fallujah for nine days when Rue was killed, and in Karmah for nine days when a white van misses its turn and heads straight for the north gate. The VBED goes off just in the nick of time, destroying the outer wall.

Fortunately, I’m not at that post when it happens. Instead, I'd been roped into doing an interview with a combat journalist making a documentary on our occupation of Iraq and the mess that is Al-Anbar.

"So, what's the hardest part about being a woman in the military?" he asks.

I bite my lip, peeling away the chapped skin. I wince, going too deep. "Being asked that question," I finally answer.

"So you don't think that you being a woman affects-"

There's a loud explosion and I'm pushed forward as everything shakes. "Every other week, God damn, they're like clockwork!" someone shouts. "Anyone not dead get to your posts!" It's Boggs. "I need all officers in command ready to fight five minutes ago!"

"Oh, come on!" I scream, only having time to run back to my tent to don my helmet and Kevlar. These “come as you are” fights certainly aren't my favorites.

Haymitch and Finnick are already waiting when I arrive. "What, doing your make-up, Sweetheart?"

"Haha," I laugh sarcastically. The only one in uniform is Finnick, though it’s because he just came off watch. We're all in mesh shorts and t-shirts, desperately trying to combat the heat.

I grab a radio that hasn't stopped going off since I got in the room. "Scotts, give me a count."

"All accounted for Lieutenant!" she confirms.

"Jesus, fuck, where do they get these people…" Haymitch grumbles, just as another explosion shakes Command.

"What was that?" Finnick shouts to a private standing in the doorway. "Private, I'm talking to you!"

"They got the south gate!" someone shouts over the radio.

"Shit! God dammit!" Boggs hisses. "You, Lieutenant, you still know how to shoot a gun?" he teases.

"I think I'll remember."

"Good. Take the east post, focus orange building. That's where they always come from."

It's a small post meant for only one person, though we have two on gun along with Pollux, the pushy reporter.

"Odair!" I shout, and get no response. "Odair!" Still nothing. "Finnick Raymond Odair, you speak when I'm talking to you! Reloading!" My other gunner takes over.

"What?" I hear him snap from downstairs while I reload.

"It would be nice if you did your job and tell us what we’re shooting at!"

Another explosion muffles Finnick's response.

"What?" No answer. "What!?"

"Shoot the orange building!" he finally yells.

"Reloading!"

"Firing!" I shout. Before long, my barrel is smoking and I need to swap it out. I hate this heat, the sun, VBEDS, RPG's and last, but not least, I definitely hate AK's.

"What in the orange building? Your job is to find out where they're coming from!"  I feel the tunnel of air as a bullet hits no more than a foot from my head. "Get down!" I holler, warning the journalist. His camera hasn't left me since I got to this post.

"Give me a minute!"

"You don't have a minute! They're shooting at my head here!"

"Don't let them hit that! Then you can't have an open casket!" Finnick jokes.

"Fuck off, Odair, or I'll buy Daniel a Barbie every Christmas until he's twenty-five!"

It's over as soon as it starts. Apparently, there have been similar attacks every week or so, this one being the worst. "Why do you think they tried to rush us?" I ask that night at our Command meeting. We were lucky this time. Only minor cuts and bruises with no loss of life.

"Didn't want to die that fast..."

Sure enough, there's an attack once a week. It starts with a suicide VBED and ends with a half hour fire fight. If there’s one thing I learn, it’s to never be out of uniform.

* * *

_May 2006_

Finnick and Gale quickly learn the exact location of my cot, right up against the wall. The morning of my birthday they start pounding on the walls of our tent. "Happy Birthday! Wake up! You're twenty five now! You can legally rent a car!"

"Go. Away." I say, attempting to ostrich myself. I quickly realize that if I don't appease them, they'll wake everyone up.

I pull on my pants and shove my feet into boots after shaking them for spiders and scorpions.

I duck out of the tent. "What?" I snap as Gale and Finnick grab my arms. "Don't you two ever... you know, sleep?"

The sun hasn't even risen yet. I can still see some stars as the black sky turns to a light purple. "You've kind of been pissy, and since you can't have birthday sex with your husband..."

I snort. "Yeah, _husband_. Maybe I'll get divorce papers for my birthday..." I grumble under my breath. They don't hear me, or pretend not to and drag me to the roof of Command.

I lay down on the dusty roof and watch the sky turn every shade of purple, pink and orange while Gale and Finnick just sit with me and enjoy my good mood.

Later that day, Pollux wants to interview me to finish what we started. He's a quiet man, and to be honest, I don't mind his company.

"You're married?" he asks, noting the wedding band on my finger. I'm so confused about my marriage to Peeta that I haven't decided whether I should take it off or not.

"I am." It’s technically true, since I haven't signed anything. "Though we're kind of...separated."

"Ah..."

"Life, stress and what not does a number on a marriage..." I mumble. Why am I spilling my guts out to this guy? Well, not exactly spilling, but why am I giving this information in the first place?

"Very true. Do you have any children?"

I stiffen, "No, no children."

"Do you talk to him?"

"We haven't spoken to each other since I left for Iraq. We don't write to each other. The only letter I've sent since getting here was to my sister."

Pollux nods and takes a note, "What do you tell her?"

"That there are some good days and some bad days. I don't tell her everything. I can't..."

He nods just before another explosion rocks the base, a lovely birthday present from the insurgents.

* * *

"Now, we have reason to believe our target is in this building," I say, taking out my red sharpie and circling a square representing our target building. "He's high up in the food chain. They like keeping guards with them at all times, so be on high alert." It's the dead of night and my stomach flips. I've been nervous about this operation since Boggs presented me with it. Our mission is to clear a known militia leader's house and capture anyone inside, even women and children. According to Boggs, no man can run while the enemy has his family. "Stay tight, you open a door and the lead goes in. Awesome, you have a gap? There's a guy standing in the corner with an AK aimed at your gut."

I won't be going inside until arrests have been made. I’m outside as two parties clear two separate houses. As always, our target will be long gone. But on the off chance he's still there, we have to show up. At least our sweeps are pushing the insurgents back. Their routine attacks have decreased a little. Now, they’re only able to get one suicide VBED in before the guns and RPG's start going off.

I keep my radio close to my ear as the two groups go. I can't help but yawn.

"Tired?" Scotts asks.

"Always. It's the sun, sucking the energy out of me."

"Lieutenant, it's night time."

I look up at the millions of tiny white dots in the sky. "A million little suns sucking my energy from me," I say, smiling. "I'll be fine." I really shouldn't be tired, though. I haven't had a nightmare since leaving the States and I get six hours of sleep every night.

I press the call button on my headset. "Remember to grab any radios, cell phones, or anything that has an antenna. Don't destroy it."

"Starting a collection?" someone asks.

"Yeah, I call it my 'Sets Off an IED' box."

"Odd, my wife calls it the 'Don't Let the Kids See This' box.”

It’s going to be a strange seven months.


	36. Falling Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Chelzie for fixing things for me :D

_June 2006_

"Rumor has it Coin is going to snatch up Commandant."

I snort into my morning coffee, waiting for the punchline of Haymitch's hilarious joke. It never comes.

"I'd stand by it, really. It would be a step in the right direction for the Corps if we got a woman Commandant..."

"If only she wasn't so absolutely batshit."

Haymitch nods. "Mark my words, that woman's days are numbered. My bet is war crimes..."

I shiver and continue sipping at my coffee, not having the stomach for anything else. In fact, I’ve felt this way for a few days. Even coffee is turning me green, so I grab for Haymitch's water. He sighs and hands it to me. "Hear anything from the boy?" he asks.

"No... And I won't. I'll get divorce papers, sign them, and mail them back. It's the least I can do after what I've put him through this last year..."

"You're an idiot."

I smile weakly. "Thanks. I could always trust you for a motivational speech, Father dearest."

Finnick flops down, having just finished a Skype call with Annie and Daniel. He is in such a chipper mood that even my sullen state can't rain on his parade. "You done with this?" he asks, not waiting for my response before taking my abandoned food and coffee. "You should probably pee on a stick. First the crying thing, now you won't even eat before noon."

"I'm not ready to be a Grandpa," Haymitch tells us, "Especially for this one."

I wait for them to call me 'dingo', but it never comes. Instead, I get up and head back to my tent. Over the horizon, I can see the early signs of a dust storm. The weather here has a distinct pattern. One hundred ten, dust storm, pouring rain. Strangely enough it’s the dry season, so maybe we will miss the rain. Rain turns everything muddy, starting with us, but I came prepared. My dark blue bandana and goggles will make my watch safe, unless it’s raining fire and brimstone watches and patrols are on. I have a bit of time since it’s barely 0600, meaning Prim might still be up. I drag my computer to the command building where we now have a TV.

_Can I call?_

There's a minute or so delay, but it says Prim's online. I bite my lip and wait until the screen tells me I have a call. "Hey, little duck." I greet her.

"Katniss! How are you? Is it hot?"

I roll my eyes. "Pushing one ten. How is it back in North Carolina?"

"Dull without you and everyone. I spend all my time watching Daniel. Rory is going to Basic soon - twelve weeks without him. Yuck! I can't even imagine how you're managing."

He hasn't told a soul. Our broken marriage is still between him and I, along with his mother, who will probably throw a party when we split. "What's that face? Katniss, what's that face?"

"Nothing, Prim."

"Yeah, sure. Spill."

I wait, staring at her face in the screen. "Peeta and I are getting a divorce."

She lets this sink in for a minute or so before asking, "But why?"

I shrug.

"Katniss!" she snaps. "What the actual _fuck_!" I physically jump back. Prim never curses.

"It's complicated."

"Is this about what happened last year?" I nod. "You're an idiot. Katniss, I love you but you're so... dumb some times. You can take apart a gun with your eyes closed and put it back together with one hand, but people... do you even understand them?"

I laugh nervously. "Yeah, sure. I can tell when someone's lying to me, when they're about to attack, or if they're hiding something on their person." Prim had Introduction to Psychology this past semester. I’ve become her favorite person to study, as I’m that messed up.

"No..." she groans. "You’ve wanted to be with Peeta since you were young. You finally got him, and now you're going to let him slip through your fingers? Just give up like that?"

"I'm doing it for him. He can't be happy with me."

"You tell yourself that…but you don't honestly believe that, do you?"

I nod. I made Peeta miserable this last year. He’s become a shell of the man he was when we got married. I remember his eyes, dull and vacant, when I left. "Everything's so broken, Prim. When I get back in November, there'll be nothing to pick up."

Her face is bright red. How can I make her understand there is nothing left; no pieces to pick up and glue back together? "We'll just cut ties and he can find someone else to make him happy…someone who's not damaged like me."

"Yeah, like Delly?" She knows just how to get to me, but I’m not having it. Maybe she’s right, maybe he'll find his way back to the sweet girl who used to defend me in school.

"If he's lucky..."

Her eyes soften. "Oh, Katniss. I've never actually seen you like this before."

"Yeah..." That's what love does to you.

* * *

The dust storm hits during my watch. I have to keep watch because usually we get attacked right after, but it never comes. In fact, the only thing we get are a few new men; one of them being Thresh, the man who kept me sane while Peeta was a POW. I don't immediately go and say hello to him. Instead, I take my helmet off and lay on the hood of a Humvee. The sky is perfectly clear and littered with little white dots and bits of haze from the Milky Way. My mind absently finds my dogtags. Normally I would only have two, but I snuck one of Peeta's before I left. He isn't going to need one.

My minds connects the dots in the stars as my thumb traces the impression on the metal. "I know it's still daytime back there..." I cut myself off and switch my focus to the tag, away from the moon and stars. Peeta can't hear me, and even if he could, I doubt he'd want to listen.

I repeat this ritual every night, laying on the hood of a Humvee, my back against the windshield until I slide down to a laying position trying to find the courage to actually talk to Peeta.

"This seat taken?" I jump. If I wasn't so tired, I probably would have pulled my gun on poor Thresh.

"Nope," I say, patting the hood. "So what brings you to Karmah?"

"Heard the beaches were nice and the women were fine," I snort in response. "Yourself?"

"I assume it's the only place Coin could shove me so I couldn't get in her hair?" I shrug.

"Commandant Coin," he shakes his head. "So what do you do out here, every night for two weeks?"

I shrug. "I like looking at the stars."

"Reminds you of Mr. Mellark?"

I smile faintly, "Yeah..."

Thresh joins me every night for a week until we're moved off the wire or into a town. Karmah has changed since I arrived here. "What is that?" someone asks. "Holy shit, what is that?"

The entire town has come out to see the spectacle, or at least the aftermath of it. Al-Qaeda has two modes of execution, a bullet to the head and/or beheading, which is probably why six headless bodies lay in the street dressed in Iraqi Police Service uniforms. Their heads are on poles to send a clear message, “This is what happens when you fight with Americans.”

We expect them to take up arms against us, but it never happens.

The people of Al-Anbar are ready. They are tired of being killed as part of Al-Qaeda's agenda. This news even gets the attention of General Coin, who makes the 'long trek' from Baghdad to Karmah to observe. She has one boss, President Snow. How is slumming it in a FOB in God-for-Jesus nowhere Iraq going to get her promoted? Duh, we're in one of the most active combat zones in the Middle East. That sneaky bitch! When she arrives, I offer her a salute and get a curt nod. The child in me makes a face to her now turned back as she puffs out her chest to Boggs. The Marines worship their Commandant like a god, or at least look up to him or her like a source of infallible wisdom. Instead, Coin is a pretender to the throne. If we could vote, mine would go to General Paylor, though apparently she is EASing (known as reaching her End of Active Service) in order to pursue a political career. Who knows?

Thresh doesn't join me on the hood of my favorite Humvee that night. He's smart, taking the time to talk to his family while I watch the stars. I haven't even tried calling Prim since our talk the other day. Secretly, I hoped she was talking to Peeta, at least making sure he’s okay. Something in my stomach flips and I scramble to the other side of the Humvee to vomit over the edge, just inches away from Gale's boots.

"You okay?" he asks as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Yeah, must have ate something off..." Gale isn't fooled.

"Got a letter today. From your husband."

I turn my head to look at him for only a second before looking back at the sky. "Oh?" I inquire.

"Yeah..." He doesn't say anything else about it. I don't get an offer to read the letter, so we just stare at the sky in silence until Gale speaks up. "So Coin was in Karmah today?"

I nod. Seeing her actually dressed in tactical gear was kind of insane. "She kind of had this look on her face like she wanted to raze all of Al-Anbar, and that it was beneath her to be there."

“She’ll do it someday, mark my words… Coin will burn some poor city to the ground just for her own greedy shit…”

We sit in silence again for a few minutes. “So what did my husband say?”

Gale digs through his jacket and hands me a piece of paper. I take my flashlight out from my vest and unfold the paper.

_Gale,_

_Keep her safe. I know it’s a lot to ask, and maybe it isn’t even my place to worry about her anymore, but get her home safe. For Prim. Also, what did you do to let her go?_

_Be safe,_

_Peeta_

I snort and dig through my vest looking for my Zippo. I’m not even sure why I still carry it. I don’t smoke, so guess it’s because everyone seemed to always have one on them. You know, just in case a flare doesn’t go off or if a letter from home needs to be burned. I lean over the edge and light the paper, watching it burn before jumping down to stamp it out with my foot.

“Mature…” Gale sighs. “You should write him instead of both of you playing this stupid game of chicken.” He slides off the vehicle and brushes off his pants.  

“And go back home to what? Sleeping on opposite sides of the bed or one of us on the couch? Silent dinners and fighting? Gale, there’s _nothing_ to go back to.”

He grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “Then make something to go back to, you idiot!”

I slap him as hard as I can. This is the second time someone’s called me an idiot about what’s happening in my personal life. “Stay out of my God damned business, Gale! I can’t _make_ something to go back to from Iraq!”

“So… you’re just going to give up? I’ve never known an Everdeen to be a coward.”

I shove him into the Humvee. “I’m not a coward! I’m just smart enough to know when to abandon ship!” I stomp away, never wanting my uncomfortable cot more than right now.

* * *

I cross suspected houses off the map, as there’s no need to raid the same house twice. An old woman comes up to me with a chunk of bread. She takes my hand and closes my fingers around it before patting my cheek and smiling a toothless smile before doing the same for everyone. It was one of many olive branches extended to us during our time here, including water and invitations to dinner at the home of the town’s leader.

We have a big job today. Apparently, a leader of Al-Qaeda is in town beating his chest and killing locals. We have the whole town blockaded and will get him out of his home. I've been in Karmah for close to two months. The town is active today. For whatever reason, no one listened to our warnings to stay inside. Not that it really mattered, because you can't get in or out of Karmah without going through a few security checks.

I feel it in the pit of my stomach, something’s wrong. At first, it’s a beautiful sight – white, glowing balls raining down from the sky like fireworks on the Fourth of July. White phosphorous raining down, burning anything it touches - wood, flesh, anything that it can catch.

_Shit... Shit shit shit!_

_"_ Everyone take cover now!" I shout as the second bomb goes off.

My earpiece goes crazy as everyone scrambles to get as many civilians to safety as possible.

“Don’t just stand there gawking!” I feel a tug at my arm and a weight is placed in my hands, a little girl. “Get her under the Humvee!” the voice pauses. “Lieutenant!” I’m ripped from my haze by Finnick, whose eyes are wild. “Seriously, let’s go!”

More bombs are going off. Whoever is launching them wants to burn Karmah to the ground, or smoke someone out.

_Coin…_

Finnick and I help get as many civilians to safety before we have to find cover ourselves. I lose count of how many bombs go off, but so far no one’s died. Well… at least no one in my charge. The stench of burned flesh hangs in the air, the sounds of painful wails and screams for loved ones prevalent as Coin continues bombing Karmah just to smoke out one man.

A door opens as another bang goes off. A young boy, his eyes wide with fear, stumbles out of the house and Finnick is off.

I watch him run through the smoke and kicked up dust just as the lethal rain of white hot phosphorous falls from the sky.

“Finnick!” I shout, knowing it will do no good.


	37. A Few Good Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, I'd like to wish you all an awesome week without me. This will most likely be the last time you hear from me until next Sunday. I'll be on vacation and though I'll be writing, I doubt I'll be updating since my beta Chelzie and I are breaking the system just to get this posted. This is my parting gift to you. Something I know my readers have wanted, but only half of it. The other half, the fun half is coming.

“Finnick!” I shout, over and over. No one has seen him since he ran off.

_You idiot! You have a son, how could you be so reckless!_

“Finnick Odair!” The dust kicked up from the bombings threatens to choke me, the smell of burned flesh in the air thick like cooked meat. Something crunches under my foot, it’s an earpiece. “Finnick, God dammit!” I yell.

_Don’t do this, please don’t do this. You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what they’ll go through without you. It should have been me. It should have been me._

Crews work quickly to put out the fires and help civilians get to hospitals. Of course, the ‘target’ wasn’t found. Instead, we lost four men as a result of her wrath.

“Thresh!” someone screams, causing me to abandon my search for Finnick. “Oh, fuck no! No! No! Medic! I need a medic!”

I run to Sergeant Scotts. I know the pool of blood can only get so large, and it’s already too late. “I need a bag…” I say into my radio.

Scotts latches onto me. “No, you don’t! You need a medic!”

I crouch down next to Thresh’s lifeless body, the heat of the sun not letting his skin cool. “He’s gone,” I tell her.

Scotts falls to her knees, her eyes glazed over. I’ve only ever seen someone this lost once before, right after my father died.

“Any sign of Major Odair?” I ask into the radio, checking Thresh for a pulse just to be sure. He’s still as a stone.

“None yet,” I hear back. Five men down for what, a hunch? I pull Scotts to her feet as they bag Thresh’s body. He’ll be sent home in a pine box, draped in a flag to parents who will never understand exactly why their son was taken from them.

An arm presses down on my shoulder. When I look up, I expect to see Haymitch or Gale. Instead, I’m greeted by a smug looking Finnick. My first instinct is to punch that look right off his face. “You asshole! You fucking asshole!” I say, grabbing his vest. “How could you?” I scream, tears streaming down my dusty face as I violently shake him.

I don’t know why I’m crying. This is his job after all, risking his life for innocent strangers.

* * *

Scotts remains silent the whole way back to base; she’s twitchy and jumpy like a scared rabbit. All of us who made it through Coin’s wrath ignore the fact that we just survived a chemical attack. “Are we talking?” Finnick asks, resting his head on my shoulder.

 _How dare he?_ He has a son, and Annie. How could he be so reckless? I should have run after that boy and risked my life. What do I have? A failed marriage with Peeta? There’s Prim and my mother, but let’s face it, they’re both living their own lives. They’d all get over it - but not little Daniel or poor Annie. I’ve seen what losing a parent does to a family. Some survive, but when it’s so sudden, it breaks everything and everyone.

“Go away, Odair.”

He sighs and cuddles into me more. To be honest, I need human contact. Even though our marriage is circling the drain, Peeta and I would still wake up in each other’s arms. Our sleep heavy brains kept thinking they could fix the unfixable.

I just want my cot when I get back, but I can’t afford that luxury because of an officers meeting. I don’t even have a chance to take off my vest, but do look forward to venting my obvious frustrations to Coin and maybe knocking out a tooth for every Marine she’s killed today.

Command is tense. Everyone is still in full tactical gear, helmets and all. Scotts refused to come, saying she needed to be alone. I didn’t press her, since I’d like to be alone as well.

Five men are dead. Five good men and where is their killer? That’s right, on a chopper heading to her next target, Fallujah.

“Fuck her!” Gale hisses. “She gets to throw us in the fire, then walk away like nothing happened? That bitch needs to be hung for war crimes!” I nod in response. Gale’s words are harsh, but honestly I’d rather see her dragged through the streets of DC.

“I don’t think we hang our convicted criminals,” Boggs starts, “But I do have the order, signed by General Alma Coin, to bomb a civilian zone with a chemical weapon,” he smiles wirily.

“Will the Marine Corps Order take her down or the International Criminal Court?” Finnick asks hopefully.

“Who knows? All I know is this shit is covered in the Geneva Convention or something.” We’ll have to sit back and let the law take care of her.

My stomach starts flipping again as everyone argues about whether or not it’s feasible for Coin to be tried for war crimes. “I-excuse me,” I announce, trying to reach the real bathrooms by the chow hall before almost falling on my face when I push the door open.

Something clicks. “Don’t come any closer!” a voice says. I see a handgun chambering a bullet.

My pre-vomit tunnel vision fades and my stomach behaves itself as Sergeant Scotts takes aim. “Jesus, put that shit down!” I say, taking a step forward. She’s sitting in the corner, handgun in hand. Her eyes are red and puffy, and the same uneasy but still blank face stares back at me.

“They teach you… it’s okay, they’re shooting back. It’s okay! It’s okay to kill!” she mutters, pulling her knees in. “They were innocent people! Good people! And we blew them up!” Her finger is resting on the trigger. She makes a gesture depicting an explosion before aiming at me again. I don’t think she’ll shoot me, I’m only trying to stop her. “We lit them on fire and watched them run around screaming! We’re bad people. Horrible people killing innocent people, killing our own FUCKING MEN!”

“Laurel, it wasn’t us, it was Coin. General Coin did this. Please, give me the gun,” I say calmly, moving forward as her other hand comes up to steady her shot. “Please, you don’t want to do this. You don’t-“

“You’re one of the good ones, Lieutenant. You’re one of the only good ones left. You know what they want? They want blood. They don’t care whose blood it is!” She runs her hands through her hair, her fingers pulling out her bun. “They just want blood on their hands! But this isn’t a game!” she spits, her arms wrapped around her legs. The gun is finally off me and I consider pulling my own weapon.

“Just a game…” she mumbles, “Just a game. We’re just pieces in their game…” she starts singing, over and over again.

Something catches my eye in the mirror, and I see the door opening. It’s enough to make Scotts panic and she pulls the trigger. I watch in the mirror as my midsection jerks back as though I’ve been punched. The air rushes from my lungs. There’s another shot and I fall to the ground just as a third goes off, but it’s not meant for me.

Through the haze of white hot pain, I watch Scotts’ body go limp. Then the smell of blood hits me.

Six dead. Maybe seven.

* * *

_What did I do with my life? What have I done? I’m a killer. My only marketable skill is the fact that I can blow someone’s head off from thousands of yards away._

I watch my mother bury another loved one in Arlington. Her boyfriend consoles her the way Prim did when we buried Dad. Prim just stares as the Honor Guard fires off my twenty-one gun salute, wincing with every shot before my flag is folded.

I watch as a man hands her my flag, folded perfectly so no red shows. It’s the same one who gave me my father’s flag, Haymitch.

No one says a word. I guess I never put much thought into my own funeral. Peeta stands at the top of my grave. Then finally, someone speaks.

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this,” his voice echoes through the hills of Arlington.

Everything goes dark. I feel like I’m falling slowly, like a bag caught in a fall breeze. What happens when I land?

I’m dying. At least I think I’m dying. Everything hurts, and then nothing hurts.

“She’s lucky, a few inches lower…”

“Should we tell him?”

I try to place the disembodied voices, or at least follow them out of the darkness, but nothing comes. There’s no light at the end of this tunnel, only darkness.

Is this death? An endless feeling of falling into a sea of black?

Everything goes quiet again, and I’m back to the nothingness I felt after my funeral.

It’s kind of nice, like a vacation from my own mind. No one asks anything of me or expects me to do anything. I just am.

“It shouldn’t be much longer now.”

No, please don’t let it stop. I don’t want to go back. My slow fall stops. The first sensation that replaces falling is the annoying beep of a heart monitor. This is why people wake up in hospitals. It’s so God damned annoying, how can you possibly go back to sleep?

I guess I’m alive.

The smell of cleaner and alcohol is the next thing to hit me and soon after that, the scratchy sheet on my bare back.

I try and open my eyes. _Come on, Katniss, just do it… bright, too bright_. This room is stark white. Maybe I didn’t survive. Maybe this is heaven? I snort.

“What’s so funny, Sweetheart?”

“This is definitely not heaven…” I croak. “If it was, you wouldn’t be here…”

“Or you. And you’re close, it’s Baghdad.” My eyes begin adjusting to the light.

“But I was shot…” I take a breath, “In the stomach.”

“You think we’d send our men in with vests that couldn’t handle two little bullets?” Haymitch says as he helps me sit up. “Easy there. The impact bruised your one rib and ruptured your spleen. Congratulations.”

“Piss off. Who’s all here?”

“You, me, Finnick and Gale. We were all rotated into Baghdad a few days after you were medevac’d here.”

“What, the first aid shack wasn’t good enough?” I tease.

“Well, the hoe, the rake and the shovel all discussed it and figured that you’d have a better chance of survival in a proper hospital.” I pull the blanket up to cover my groin and lift my gown. Sure enough, there’s one short incision.

“Did I get to keep my spleen?”

“So attached to an organ that you don’t even need?” His old eyes go sad for a second before continuing, “You took Peeta off as your next of kin?”

I pick at a string. “I figured I wouldn’t bother him. How’d Mom take it?”

“She cried a lot. But then we told her…” he snaps his jaw shut.

“Told her what? Haymitch?” I ask, but he stands and heads out the door. “Haymitch! I’m talking to you!” I shout, though the exertion stings.

I wait a minute, then another before deciding to follow him. I reach into my gown and pull off the tabs that are keeping me connected to the heart monitor. It stops, reading my pulse immediately and making a sound like I’m coding. “Shit, shit! Shut up!”

Haymitch, two doctors and a nurse in pink scrubs come running in a panic, expecting me to be dead in the bed. “Good morning?” I smile sheepishly as the nurse makes me lay down.

They hook me back up and the beeping starts again. “How are you feeling?” the doctor asks, sitting on the edge of the bed after the nurse helps me back into it.

How do I feel?

“Thirsty?” I take a quick inventory, noting the dull pain in my ribs that I’d get over. “I think I’m hungry, too.”

“That’s good,” he says and nods. I wince as he shines a light in my eyes and places a blood pressure cuff on my arm. “BP’s one oh four over seventy two.” He rips at the Velcro and folds the cuff onto his lap. “Now, Lieutenant,” he begins as Haymitch sits down next to me.

“Am I dying?” I blurt out. They’re all surrounding me, all of them, everyone waiting for me to spring and panic.

“No, not quite.” The doctor gets up from the bed and a nurse hands him a large file. “Now, the first bullet hit you about here,” he starts while clipping an x-ray in and turning on the lighted board. He circles a drawn-on circle. “The rib is not broken. The Kevlar in your vest took the brunt of it.” He slaps in another x-ray. “Your poor spleen wasn’t so lucky, though I think the way the boys got you on that backboard is what caused it to rupture. Animals, all of them.” Grey, that’s all I see, grey. “You were very lucky, though. Normally we’d take the shot a little higher, but we were already getting a chest x-ray so…” he clears his throat, and circles the lowest point on the x-ray, dead center. “We were made wise to this little guy or girl.”

Everything in the room freezes for a minute and the monitor skips a beep. It takes me a minute or two to gather my wits. “Wait, what? That’s how you’re…” I can’t seem to string together a coherent sentence, “That’s how you fucking tell someone they’re pregnant? No wonder you’re out in Iraq where people aren’t having sex!” I spit.

He gives me a judgmental look. It’s assumed that women get pregnant when they’re deployed for two reasons, extramarital affairs and to go home.

“Everyone get out,” I start, but no one moves. “Did I stutter?” I hiss. “Everyone get out RIGHT NOW!” They scramble and I’m alone, except for Haymitch. “Just go away, please, just go away!”  My tears come suddenly and I curl up as best I can.

I will never stop ruining Peeta Mellark’s life. First, he takes his mother’s abuse just to get me food when we’re kids, then he marries me, and now he’s stuck with me for eighteen years because I had to climb on top of him right before I left for Iraq. Why couldn’t I just be satisfied leaving without complicating things? We would have never gotten into that fight, I wouldn’t have brought up divorce, and maybe when I got home we could salvage things.

Instead of leaving, Haymitch does something I never would have expected him to. He lowers the guardrail on the other side of the bed and climbs in to hold me. “I've ruined his life. This is it, Haymitch… I can’t take this back…”

He shushes me. “You two were fighting and talking about splitting. It’s natural to, you know, test drive what’s out there…”

I don’t have the energy to tell him to fuck off. “No, it’s his.”

* * *

“What are you going to do?” Gale asks. I somehow manage to pull on a clean set of fatigues, not even bothering to tuck in my shirt.

“What do you mean?” I ask, looking up at him. My only bag not on the plane or bundled with the other bag lays at my feet. It’s enough to get me through a day of travel.

“Don’t play dumb, Catnip. Finnick’s been bouncing off the walls trying to get to you so he can say ‘I told you so’.”

To be fair, I am pretty ignorant to my body. Between the fatigue, the irritability, the puking and the complete absence of an appetite, I should have suspected something. “Tell Finnick I owe him. And for now, I go back to DC. I’ll tell Peeta I’m pregnant and go from there. I’m sure I can always get bachelor housing somewhere. The Marines will put me up before I give birth. Hopefully by then, the divorce is finalized and I’ll have a place of my own.”

“Idiot…” he grumbles. “Why are you just giving up so easily?”

“I won’t have him stuck with me just because he knocked me up,” I say, looking up into the sun. “Who knows, maybe I’ll go back down to Lejeune and I can slowly assimilate this one into the Abernathy herd. Or maybe Annie and Finnick want a second brat.”

 _“I just want us to be happy about this.”_  Peeta’s voice echoes in my head and I couldn’t agree more.

“Well, this is my ride.” I smile as men and women start lining up; hundreds of them going home after being here for the last seven months or so. None of them know my secret and for that, I’m thankful.

* * *

I park my car right next to Peeta’s truck and sigh. _This is it._ Perhaps I should have gotten a hotel room? It’s after eleven in the evening, and none of the lights are on.

Instead, I hesitate and listen to _American Soldier_ by Toby Keith, but the DJ cuts the song off half a second too soon. “That was _American Soldier_ by Toby Keith. Now more than ever, we need to be thankful for our men and women in uniform. Especially now.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Dianne. A four star general stripped of her title-“ I cut the engine. Good, a first step in punishing Coin; taking away her stars, kicking her to the curb, then hopefully locking her up and throwing away the key. I shuffle through my keys, looking for the one that matches the front door.

 _Please work… Please work…_ At this point, I’m too tired to navigate to a hotel and would consider sleeping in the car if my key doesn’t fit the lock. But to my surprise, it does.

I let the door slam and enter the building, dragging the one bag I’d need immediately up the stairs. Either Peeta was out or already asleep. Phoenix begins barking as I unlock the front door. I take a few deep breaths before turning the knob. I can do this. I can tell Peeta the ‘good news’.

_Fuck… I didn’t even call to tell him I was coming home. No wonder he wants a divorce. I didn’t even tell him I was leaving a war zone._

The door opens and Phoenix comes to me, not recognizing my scent; which, at this point, is a mix of sweat, desert, and travel. Her scruff is up, ears back and teeth bared, ready to attack. I try to calm her, but can’t find my voice. Even my dog hates me.

I push back the growling animal, already feeling tears streaming down my face when I hear the quiet click of a gun. I draw my own on reflex, though there’s no holster there. I feel for the light switch but an arm catches me and throws me against the wall. When did Peeta learn how to walk quietly?

“Please… don’t hit me…” I choke out through my own tears.

“Shit, Katniss!” The pressure on my body is suddenly gone. My eyes sting when the light switches on. “What are you… why are you here?”

I wipe my eyes with the back of my wrist, making sure I get my cheeks as well. “They… they sent me back stateside…”

I shift uneasily. This is my home, but I still feel like an invader. If we do get the divorce, he can keep the apartment. I’ll find somewhere else to live. “I see that,” he says in a short tone. “Why?”

I lean back into the wall, my exhaustion already getting to me. Instead of immediately answering, I move to the couch. At first, I’m afraid to taint it with my dirty body, but I can’t care. It’s not just me anymore.

_Baby… I have to think about the baby. Peeta’s baby. Will I ever stop making his life hell?_

“Katniss,” he starts. “You storm out of here almost three months ago and go to Iraq. I don’t get so much as a letter from you. I have to hear from Prim that you’re in an FOB in Al-Anbar.”

“Peeta! I just watched a twenty-four year old Sergeant blow her brains out because Coin used white phosphorous on a peaceful town because she had a _hunch_ Al-Qaeda might have someone in the town. They all burned! The only reason I’m still here is because I hid under a Humvee with her while innocent people screamed and burned, all because of a hunch! I almost had to shoot her myself! She shot at me first before painting the bathroom with her brains. ‘I was good,’ she said, ‘I did good.’ She told me I was one of the last good ones left…” I laugh nervously.

“She was one of the ones that saved you,” I tell him as I start falling apart. “She risked her life to save you, Johanna, Annie, and Enobaria… and now she’s gone all because of Coin! All because Coin had a hunch! The target wasn’t even there.” I pause, running my hands through my greasy hair.

Peeta lets me ramble, not bothering to stop me from telling him about all the horrors I’ve witnessed in the past three months. It’s more than we’ve talked in the last year. “And the suicide VBED’s… I almost got blown up when a truck crashed through the wall of the FOB. I was there and someone called my name, so I went to find them. Two seconds later,” I imitate an explosion with my hands, making the sound or at least trying to. “And they tried to shoot me, they all have AK’s. When you feel the bullet fly by your face, missing you by barely a foot…” I take hold of my hair as I work backwards, my PTSD riddled brain trying to make sense of everything.

Why did I come here? Peeta and I are bound for divorce. Why didn’t I just fight to transfer to Lejeune, or perhaps Quantico? I could be with my mother, Prim, and everyone. No, I’ve come back to Peeta because I will always come back to Peeta. I need him, not only because I’m carrying his child, but because he is the light in my dark, dark mind; the glimmer of hope that I’m doing the right thing.

I blink away my tears and look up at him. He stands awkwardly at the end of the couch. “Can I… can I shower here?” I ask meekly.

“Why not? Your name is on the lease, too. Are you going to tell me why you got rotated back stateside? You don’t EAS for almost a year. Is it your PTSD?”

I shake my head and place my hands on my stomach, “I-“ my voice catches in my throat. _Just say it, Katniss! How hard is it to say ‘I’m pregnant’?_  The dog finally approaches me, getting up on the couch and resting her head in my lap. “I’m pregnant…” I whisper. Finally, it’s there, out in the open.

“Whose is it? Some guy you fucked in Iraq?”

His words sting all the way to my core, though I feel like I deserve it. “The last time I had sex, the father accused me of taking him for a test drive. I ran from my home because I was too afraid to talk to him. I thought he’d be happy when he heard he was having a baby…” I stand up from the couch and head towards the door. “I’ll leave you be, I guess…”

As I grab the doorknob, I turn around to look at Peeta one last time. “I…I don’t know what to do. You may not want me, but…” I stop myself. “Never mind. Goodbye, Peeta. Mail me whatever… I’ll sign whatever you want,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. “It’s all been my mistake, so I’ll handle it. Goodbye.” I close the door behind him, not even bothering to get my own damn cat.

I drag my bag behind me, too tired to bother picking it up. The muggy night air only makes this even more miserable. Tomorrow morning, I’ll have to apply for bachelor housing. I couldn’t find a place in time. Maybe Peeta will want the baby. Maybe it will look more like him and he can love it like it deserves, since I’ve been too dumb to let him love me.

I fumble to get my keys out. “Katniss! Wait!” I hear him shout. My instincts tell me to hurry into the car and leave him so we can’t hurt each other anymore. I open the door and throw in my bag.

“Katniss!” He hasn’t even bothered to put shoes or a shirt on. “Please, Katniss…” he pleads, but I can’t look at him. I just stand there, holding onto the car door for dear life. It’s the only thing keeping me from crumpling onto the ground in a heap of sobs and my general filth. “Look at me, please.”

I wait a second, trying to psych myself up for it, but he can’t wait any longer.  “Or don’t. Katniss, almost three months ago, the love of my life walked out the door and I just let her. I didn’t even try to stop her. I watched her load her bags into her car and drive off without a goodbye.” At this, I finally look up at him. “I was so angry for so long. I hated her, I hated everything she did. And I hated myself for everything I did. I let her slip through my fingers. I let her hurt… but I’m not doing that again. I _can’t_ do that again.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t…” another pause, “I don’t know what to do about us, but it isn’t just you and me anymore, and I know I just can’t let you walk out the door hurting again.”

I watch him as he takes my bag, waiting for the door to close. I hesitate. Do I want this? Do I want to risk hurting him again? I squeeze the metal, my thumbnail digging into the black seal of the door before I slam it shut and head back inside.

I somehow find the stamina to shower, the brown water running off me as the sand and dirt wash away from my pores. There’s a rusty tint to it, the last of the dead Sergeant Scotts running from me. There isn’t much, just whatever blood spatter dried in my hair and wasn’t washed away in that Baghdad hospital. I treat my stiches with care, trying not to rub them too hard or run water directly on them.

I’m not sure if I’m allowed to be naked in front of Peeta, so I change into my last clean t-shirt and shorts in the bathroom. “Are you hungry?” he asks. I stand awkwardly in the living room with Phoenix. She’s finally warming up to me, though her big brown eyes seem to be waiting for me to walk out again.

Peeta coaxes a bowl of cereal into me. I decide it’s better to let him switch from cold to overprotective. “Kat?” His voice jolts me back to reality, and I look up from the spot on the wall I’ve been staring at. He’s holding papers and I gulp. “I know you’re stressed and tired, but…” He sits down next to me at the table and quickly signs the piece of paper before pushing it to me.

_The Court of Common Pleas_

_District of Columbia, Family Division_

_Peeta Mellark, Plaintiff_

_Katniss Mellark, Defendant_

At first I think it’s a lawsuit, but then it hits me. He really did file for divorce. “Just… Just sign it, Katniss. It’s what you want, isn’t it? We’ll work out what to do about the kid when we get there. I just want you to be happy. I need you to not stress. I can’t…“ His voice trembles as his whole body slumps, “We can’t lose another one.”

I stare at the blank line where he wants me to sign as he continues. “I’ll get bachelor housing or find a place of my own. I don’t want you moving again. I’ll make everything as easy for you as possible. You can even keep our savings…” Everything we’ve made during our short marriage is held in a joint savings account. Peeta is willing to walk away with nothing.

I stare at the paper for a good five minutes. Do I really want this? Do I really want a divorce? Do I want Peeta to move out, leave everything for me and barely be in our child’s life? Could we do that? Hasn’t everything changed now that I’m pregnant?

“If… if there wasn’t a baby… would you still want to be with me?” I hear myself ask. “You know…if you weren’t legally bound to me?”

“I’ve loved you since the minute I laid eyes on you, Katniss, but I have a habit of letting you slip through my fingers.” That’s all I need to hear. Peeta watches me get up, paper in hand. I dig through the drawers looking for _something_ before giving up and turning on the stove. After three clicks, the gas lights. “What are you…” he jumps up. “Katniss!”

“Peeta, you know I’m not good with words. But… you’re all I’ve ever wanted. This…this piece of paper is a mistake. We have so much to work on, but I’d like to try and fix what’s broken for you and…” I pause, placing my hands on my stomach, “For her.”

He takes the paper from my hand. “Or him. You’re sure?” I nod, trying to smile, trying to hide my fear. The fact of the matter is that our marriage seems almost broken beyond repair. We won’t be able to fix it overnight, over the next few days or even weeks. It will take months for us to get everything in check, but I love him and for now, that’s going to have to be enough until the wounds heal.

He goes to touch the paper to the blue flame, but I grab his hand. “Together,” I tell him as we push our divorce papers into the flame and quickly bring them over the sink where the fire can safely consume them.  We drop it when the flames inch too close to our hands and run water on it. I watch as the remaining bits run down the drain and for the first time in over a year, my smile is genuine.

I lean into Peeta and he buries his face in my hair. “We’ll get there…” he whispers into my still damp hair.

“One day at a time…” I say as his arm snakes around my waist, brushing just a little too close to my wound. “Shit…” I double over, using the sink to keep me up.

He panics. “Oh God, Katniss!” I sense the fear in his voice. He’s afraid, maybe for me, maybe for the baby.

“It’s okay. I’m just a little sore.” I explain to him how I managed to get myself shot and that one bullet ruptured my spleen. “I’ll just lay down in the guest room…”

Peeta bites his lip. “It’s kind of a mess in there. I made use of your anniversary present. I’ll clean it up tomorrow and sleep in there. You take the bedroom tonight and I’ll take the couch.”

“No, you take the bed. I’ll get the couch. I’m smaller,” I try to reason.

“Katniss, you’re pregnant and injured. Take the damn bed and like it.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ve spent the last few months sleeping on a cot in a tent in Al-Anbar. I can spend one night on the floor,” I insist.

“You’ll do no such thing!”

I don’t want to have this argument, I just want to go to bed. Peeta interprets my fatigue as surrender and scoops me up, but doesn’t hold me to his chest. This carry is all business. He nudges the bedroom door open with his foot and gingerly sets me down on the bed. The cat reluctantly gets off my pillow which is still resting where it should be. Peeta didn’t even take over my spot, the damn cat did.

“Stay with me?” I ask as he pulls the covers up.

His eyes sadden. “Not tonight, Katniss. I’m not ready for that. Just sleep, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

After he leaves, Amal curls up at my waist. I cocoon his tiny white body with mine. The queen size bed Peeta and I share has never felt so big and cold.


	38. Rekindling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my vacation ends tomorrow. I'll be back in Pennsylvania by 2pm(ish). It was an interesting week filled with spider bites, an ER visit, killed fish (accidental, of course), and my brother and I proving that we're both still 5 years old and shouldn't be taken to nice places.
> 
> I'm still compiling a list of baby names. You'll find out which flavor name I need in this chapter.
> 
> Thank you Chelzie for getting this back to me even though you're on your trip! Also for tolerating my crazyness, and watching the Olympics with me even when I start saying creepy things about the male Olympians... Can you say SPLOOSH!?
> 
> Also for that Scrubs gif you just used on Tumblr. Seriously <3 you
> 
> Onward!!

_July 2006_

The whole floor shakes from my twitching leg. I don't want to be here, but I have to be.

"Could you sit still for five seconds?" Peeta snaps, taking a hold of my knee to stop the jostling. We’ve been waiting in our therapist’s office for about ten minutes and I’m already going crazy.

"No, I can't. I'm waiting for some jackass to come in and judge me for destroying our marriage," I reply, nervously run my hands along my still flat stomach. We're almost to the same point where I miscarried during my first pregnancy. I have another appointment tomorrow; this time, we'll hopefully hear the heartbeat or get good news. I’ll take anything except another miscarriage.

"For God’s sake, Katniss," he sighs. "If you blame yourself for us being here one more time..." He doesn't finish, as I've heard the speech before. Next, he’ll give me the 'stress isn't good for the baby' speech.

Fortunately, it's interrupted by the door opening. "Hello, hello. I'm Dr. Miller," the man says, shaking my hand, followed by Peeta's.

"Well, you're sitting on the same couch, that's always a good sign,” he observes. I roll my eyes, but he misses it. "So, tell me why you're here?"

Peeta and I exchange an awkward look. "Well, we're expecting our first child..."

"That's nice… but why are you really here? A baby isn't a reason to stay married," he starts, "And it isn't a reason to get married, either."

Peeta and I sit in silence. "Well... I love him," I mumble. "I spent May and June halfway across the world and I’ve never felt so..." I pause, biting my lip. How do I feel?

"Empty?" Peeta finally says, breaking my minute-long silence.

He takes my hand in his and I nod. It's the first time we've actually touched, other than accidental brushes and his helping me in and out of the car. I blush like a teenager at a movie theater.

We explain to the therapist how we're from the same town, but that our paths only crossed a few times when he helped to feed my family or pull me off some townie bitch.

"Alright, so where did you two meet up again?"

"Fallujah, Iraq. A little base we called Dreamland.  She had just gotten off the plane."

I pinch my brow. "I was changing my shirt and putting more deodorant on. My door was open because, well, people aren't supposed to be dicking around in the barracks. They should either be asleep or on their way to their post. My shirt was off."

Peeta smiles. "Yes, it was."

"Oh, shut up... I was chewing out this private who, lo and behold, got someone to try and kill me less than two weeks later," I sigh. "Sometimes, I wonder if your life would be better if that grenade, the building, or the bullet had taken me out."

Peeta snorts. "Well, that's horseshit. How would my life be better? Short term, I'd have still gone after you to find you. Long term, I wouldn't be married, I wouldn't have pushed myself so hard to get the job I have now, and I wouldn't have a child on the way."

"You could..."

He cuts me off. "Don't. Don't you dare, Katniss. We’ve already been over this."

I look away from him, tears welling in my eyes. "I'm sorry..." I mumble, cursing my hormones. "I just want you to be happy."

"I'm happy with you, Katniss. I'm in love with you," he declares. I look up and he brushes away a loose tear.

"I love you, too..." _But I still go to bed alone…_

* * *

After our appointment, I cook dinner while Peeta cleans up the guest room. I open the bag and the smell hits me – garlic and raw chicken, but mostly raw chicken. It doesn't smell off, but it's the most potent smelling raw chicken I've ever encountered. My stomach flips and I push the bag away, rushing to the bathroom. I manage to throw the seat up just as my stomach empties itself. When I think I'm done, I think of the smell again. The dry heaves keep me incapacitated until I'm pretty sure my stomach is the next thing that will come up.

I rest my cheek against the smooth, cool porcelain of the tub. I hear the toilet flush and open my eyes. "Your daughter doesn't like raw chicken..."

"Daughter? I thought it was the men who put women through pain," he jokes, handing me a glass of water. I rinse my mouth and spit into the toilet. "Also, I come from a family of three boys..."

"Daughter, they're downright cruel to their mothers. Wait until she's a teenager!"

He just smiles and helps me off the ground. "I'll go finish dinner, you lie down."

I park myself on the couch. The cat is at my head, while the dog takes up the entire bottom cushion.

The woman on the TV tells me to expect another hot week, and that the Fourth will be muggy with thunderstorms, possibly postponing the fireworks. "Hey, Peeta?" I ask.

"Hmm?"

"What are we doing for the Fourth?"

It’s a big night in DC, understandably so. "Well, you don't start back until next week, and I'm off tomorrow night. We could go watch the fireworks and get drunk... Oh, wait."

"Oh, fuck off!" I can almost see his smirk from the kitchen. "You're not funny. I'll give this baby to some couple that can't have one of their own if you keep teasing me!"

Once dinner is ready, we sit across from each other at the table. For the first time since our first failed pregnancy, the TV is off. "Are you sure you don't want me to make you anything else?" Peeta offers.

I cut into my chicken. "I'm fine now, it's just the smell of it raw," I shudder. "You know, this probably explains why I ignored Tabasco in Iraq, and food in general," I ponder, but those days are long gone. I finish my first helping and most of a second, the rest going to Phoenix. Peeta sighs disapprovingly as the dog and I eat off the same fork.

"What? She's getting too skinny! Let me fatten up my baby!" On cue, there's a paw in my lap. "See? See? She's hungry!"

Peeta rolls his eyes and takes away my empty plate. Before everything went wrong, this would be when he would kiss me sweetly, causing me to go for something more fierce. Soon, the dishes would be forgotten and we quickly became a mess of sweaty limbs and passionate kisses.

I jump up and take my plate from him. "I'll do the dishes, you go sit down," I volunteer, keeping my eyes on the ground as I feel tears welling up.

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm, I just..." I let one sniffle go by.

"Katniss," he says, forcing me to look up at him. I jerk away, taking the dishes and dropping them into the sink.

"Peeta, please go sit down. I just need to be alone..." Sadly, he doesn't just leave the room. He leaves the whole apartment, taking the dog for a walk and leaving me to noisily clean up. Once I'm done, I quickly get ready for bed and climb under the sheets. At some point, the dog joins me, attempting to fill the void on my husband's side of the bed as she surely did for him while I was in Iraq. She tries cuddling up against me, at one point rubbing my stitches. "No..." I command, waking her up with a little shake. "Go sleep with Daddy..." Almost as if understanding me, Phoenix gets off the bed with half a huff and paws at the guest room door. Peeta lets her in and she doesn't return until six in the morning when Peeta comes in to get dressed for work.

"Ultrasound at two?"

"No, three. Meet me there?" I yawn.

"No, I'll pick you up. I already put in to leave at noon."

I throw the blankets over my head to block out the sun, which was just beginning to rise. "I'll have lunch ready for you like a good little wife." He laughs and pats my calf. It's the closest we'll get to showing affection any time soon.

I can’t get back to sleep as it's already too hot. Our air-conditioning is working overtime, but it still isn't enough.

I take a cold shower, which cools me off just long enough for me to think it’s perfectly fine for me to clean in a sports bra and boy-shorts.

It's almost impossible, however, to scrub kitchen floors when you have a dog covering the wet floor in little paw prints while trying to pull the rag from your hand. "Go lay down..." I command as she tugs on the rag. "Phoenix, drop!" I snap. She gives a half-hearted tug before dropping it, choosing a nap over tug of war.

Peeta kept our home neat in my absence. He would surely do much better on his own than I would. I'd end up more like my mother. If he left, so would I, at least mentally.

At 1230 sharp, Peeta walks in the door. Like the lady I am, I'm sitting in the recliner still in my underwear, trying to keep myself cool with a frozen water bottle nestled between my breasts. "Hey," I say, giving him a small wave without bothering to close my legs. I'm barely even sitting; it’s more like a half-lay, half-sit.

"I brought the rest of your bags up. You probably shouldn't be leaving guns in a car on the street. But then, I've never taken firearms safety."

"Once a year, ever year for the last seven years," I remind him, digging through the closest bag. I find my canteens, tactical vest, and knife, nothing too fun. I force myself out of the chair and drag the bags into our bedroom, the water bottle still between my breasts.

"Hey, I was promised lunch!" Peeta complains.

"And I promised you I'd never be the obedient little wife!" I shout back from the closet. I sort out my dirty fatigues; the ones covered in dust, sweat and mud get mixed in with my other dirty clothes from the last few days. I shove the few pairs of clean pants on the top shelf of our walk-in closet next to Peeta's before something falls down on me. I rip the silk, yanking it off my face and throwing it to the ground as if it’s a cobra. The silk is pale orange with lace along the bust and the hem; the nightgown I wore the night Peeta and I conceived our son or daughter. I liked how it looked on me, and Peeta loved the color. It really is a beautiful nightgown. I grab my knife from my tactical bag and shred the silk. As experience has taught me, beautiful things can also be deadly.

* * *

When I lived on the outskirts of DC, having a gynecologist outside of the city seemed logical. Now that Peeta and I live pretty damn close to the city center, it’s just annoying. The twenty minute drive does nothing but give my anxiety time to build.

 _You survived VBEDS, IED's, and phosphorous rockets..._ I think while idly rubbing my stomach, trying to find any physical symptom of the life forming inside me. _Now you just have to survive me..._

"What happens if..." I say softly, looking out the window.

"What happens when we hear a heartbeat?" Peeta asks. "We get on our phones and call my parents, your mom, Prim and anyone else we can think of. Then, we go to the Lincoln Memorial. Cinna, Portia and I will enjoy some beers while you enjoy being the designated driver until January."

"I'm calling Prim first." I tell him as I smile. Prim, Rory and my mother-in-law are the only ones who know about our first attempt at parenthood, though after everything, I swore Prim to secrecy.

It doesn't take very long for my shirt to be up. I have the positive blood test results from when I was in Baghdad, so there’s no question about whether or not I’m pregnant.

I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself as the doctor presses the wand into my stomach. Peeta takes my hand in his as Dr. Ferrier begins her search. She conducts the examination like I wasn't on this table a year ago, finding out I had something dead inside me. "Right here is the head. The arms and legs are formed, so I'd say you're between twelve and thirteen weeks," she announces. I left for Iraq on the third of April. It’s now the Fourth of July, putting me right at the beginning of my thirteenth week. "Actually, with how the baby's laying, we might be able to tell the gender even though it's still early. First, though…" She taps on the screen as I continue to squeeze Peeta's hand. We hear the haunting whoosh of my single heartbeat, then another, much faster and lighter than my own.

"We did it..." Peeta's voice cracks as he starts crying. He pulls me into as much of a hug as we can manage. The rest of the appointment is a blur. Dr. Ferrier tells us her best guess is that we're having a girl, though we won't be sure until between eighteen and twenty weeks.

We aren’t even in the car before I start dialing Prim’s number. "Hello?" she asks.

I hold onto Peeta, thinking I'd float away if I let go. "Prim, guess what?"

"You're pregnant?"

"Holy shit, how did you know?"

The line goes silent for a good half a minute, then Prim lets out her signature Disney squeal.  "Oh my God!"

"I know! I'm due right after New Year’s."

Prim chastises me for being in a war zone while pregnant and that her niece won't be allowed to forget it. "Listen, I have to go. Rory and I are coming up for something Duke related during first week of August. We'll pop in so I can get photographic proof that there's a human growing inside you. And that you and Peeta aren't murdering each other."

"One day at a time," I tell her before tapping Peeta's arm. "Turn here..." He listens and heads towards Arlington.

Peeta doesn't let go of my hand. For a minute, we look like a regular couple on their way to pay their respects. "Why aren't you wearing your engagement ring?" he asks, thumbing my wedding band.

"I didn't know you wanted me to wear it..." I mumble. We pass by some fresh graves, but none of them are anyone we know. "Every Fourth of July, I would come up here and watch the fireworks just like we did when he was alive..." I kneel in front of my father's grave. For the holiday, three carnations – one red, one white, and one blue – and a new flag sit in front of the white headstone. My grief and anger hit me like a truck. Tears I didn't even know were building begin streaming down my face. "He'll never meet her!" I sob. Peeta kneels down beside me, pulling me into his chest.

"It's okay... Katniss, it'll be okay. He's watching her from heaven." I snort in response. "Okay... well, she'll know how amazing her grandfather is, and that he died a hero." He kisses the top of my head. "Honestly, do you really think your family will let her forget for even a minute how amazing her grandfather was?" We sit in silence in the miserable Virginia heat for a good half hour until my crying spell is over.

On the ride home, I call my mother and he calls his. They’re both shocked in their own way; my mother that I’m actually pregnant, his that we’re actually still married.

"What do you want for dinner? We'll have to eat early."

"Chinese," I say without giving him an option. Phoenix sits at my feet as I open her can of dog food. "I've never wanted pork fried rice more than right now." I empty the can and set it on the floor.

"Are you sure you should be eating all that salt?" he asks from the bedroom.

I scrunch my face up. "I'm your pregnant wife, so you should appease me. Doctor’s orders!"

He sneaks up on me again, this time scooping me into his arms. "Oh, is that how it's going to go?"

"Yes! For the next five months, you get me what I want to eat! Even if it's gross!"

He holds me close, nuzzling into me and laughing. All our problems have melted away. For a short period of time, we're just some normal couple. Peeta sits me down on the kitchen table, his hands cupping my cheeks as our lips brush for the first time since April. I arch my back, trying to press as much of myself against him, missing the warmth of his strong body. He brings one arm down, pulling me close as I part my lips and his tongue enters my mouth. It almost feels like everything is right again, that the last year didn't happen and we'll be alright. The bottom elastic strap of my sports bra inches down, rubbing up against my stitches.

My eyes water from the pain and my sudden yelp pulls us back to reality.

"I'm sorry..." he starts, "I'm sorry... that was…we shouldn't have done that. I'll go order dinner," he stammers, leaving me confused on the kitchen table.

"One step forward, two steps back..." I grumble. We eat dinner in near silence, neither of us mentioning the kiss from only an hour before.

Cinna and Portia's little King Charles Cavalier assholes jump and weave with each other. It's almost a shame to think these things come from the same family of dogs as the English Springer and the Brittany. While the latter are such good and useful dogs, amazing at flushing birds. All these two can do is distract a normally well-behaved Phoenix.

"Heel," I caution. She obediently returns to my side, but lets out one rebellious bark, silencing Elizabeth Taylor and Audrey Hepburn for only a minute before they continue their chatter.

Peeta and I start our hour long hike from our apartment on Davis Place to Independence Mall with our hands cupped. It's a small but reassuring gesture. We talk with Cinna and Portia about the baby. They're quick to congratulate us and Portia promises that we'll go shopping for maternity clothes soon.

"Ugh..." I groan. "That reminds me, I'll need to order larger jackets and BDU pants with the stretchy waist soon." Although I would’ve been sent home for the ruptured spleen, the fact that I came home from Iraq well into a pregnancy will make me a pariah on base, for the most part, almost as if it’s been programmed into their brains. The men in my shop will question not only the baby’s paternity, but whether or not I got pregnant in order to get out of Iraq.

Portia looks at me, shocked that I can't wear the latest in maternity fashion to work. Peeta, sensing my frustration, laces his fingers in-between mine, giving me a reassuring squeeze.

We wait for what seems like an eternity to cross a busy intersection. Peeta wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close, kissing my temple just as the light turns green. "Don't touch me!" I hiss as I jerk away from him. After what happened earlier, how dare he?  "You can't act like we're not allowed to touch in private, but pretend to be affectionate in public!" Luckily, there are a few people separating Portia and Cinna from us, so they can't over hear. "Peeta, I'm not some just some fuck," I say, using his own words from the beginning of our relationship against him. "I'm your wife and the mother of your child. Show some respect for me." His silence says it all.

Somehow, the four of us arrive early enough to get seats on the Lincoln Memorial steps, overlooking the reflecting pool at the center of Independence Mall.  Peeta and I, clearly not talking at this point, sit with a dog buffer between us. Phoenix paws at one of us for attention, waiting for bits of leftover chicken she knows are in both of our pockets, as a reward for good behavior.

The sun sets and there's finally a break in the muggy heat. Right before the show begins, I hold onto the dog's collar. She's usually good with loud noises, gunshots and fireworks, but you can never be too sure with a dog.

The first bang goes off and when I blink, I'm back in Karmah. The kicked up dust threatens to choke me if the stench of burning human flesh doesn't first. I watch, frozen in place as white hot phosphorous burns straight through Thresh's vest, uniform and flesh. I try calling his name long after the last breath left his body.

 _You killed him! You could have helped, but instead you hid like a coward…_ My own voice chastises me for keeping myself and the child I didn't know I was carrying alive.

"Katniss, come back to me. It's not real!" Peeta calls, but his voice is distorted as if my ears are full of water. I watch as the foxfaced Sergeant Scotts blows her brains out just as everything goes black. The smell of burning flesh is replaced by Peeta's body wash and aftershave, while the explosions turn into his slow, strong heartbeat.

"Shhh... It's okay..." he coos. Phoenix's warm, wet tongue laps at my cheek. Peeta drops his hand from my eyes, and the other from my ear. I’m clear enough now and able to watch the rest of the fireworks without my mind leaving for Iraq, though Peeta’s hand never leaves mine.

Unfortunately, we still spend our nights in different rooms; our pets trying to fill the void on the other side of the bed.

* * *

_August 2006_

I suck in as best I can, though it's no use. The small bump caused by my daughter's growing body just won't suck in. I lie on the bed fighting with the button of my shorts, but again, it's no use. In a huff, I hook my thumbs in the waistband and slide them down. I kick them out of the room and into the hallway before rubbing my hands over the offending protrusion from my abdomen. I’m still smaller than most women at the eighteen week mark, though according to the doctor, everything is fine in there. All of my tests have come back normal. My OBGYN urged us to get a slightly invasive test to see if there’s anything wrong genetically, since our first pregnancy didn't stick because of "chromosomal abnormalities”, whatever that means.

I still have about an hour before Peeta comes home, so I shut my eyes. It’s so hot out, the only thing I really want to do is sleep.

"Shit, I'm sorry." I hear his voice and crack an eye open. God, he looks good in uniform.

"It's fine." I stretch and yawn. "Can you hand me my shorts... and underwear?"

Peeta sits down next to me and rests a hand on my stomach. "Has she started moving yet?"

I shrug and just enjoy the feeling of his hand on me. Well, it’s more like he’s touching our child rather than actually touching me. We’re still only cohabiting, living our platonic marriage while the proof that we were once intimate grows under my shirt.

I don't realize it, but just the thought brings tears to my eyes. I just want my husband to desire me as the muscles on my abdomen give way to the round, potbelly looking bump.

"Katniss? What's wrong? Does something hurt?" I nod and rest his hand between my breasts, right above my heart. "Is it heartburn? Do you want me to get you some Tums?" I’ve been eating them like candy. Apparently, heartburn is normal.

"No, not heartburn," I tell him, unwilling to continue this guessing game.  "I hate this," I begin, putting my hand over his. "I hate working on making things better even though you can't even look at me like you want me. I hate going to bed alone every night, and feeling like..." I groan and roll over. He withdraws his hand as I curl up in the fetal position. Some women get crazy horny while pregnant, but I'm constantly weepy. Fucking hormones! I will my tears to go away. "I know I'm disgusting. It's only going to get worse, but you can still pretend..." I trail off. I've grown so accustomed to being covered in thin, lean muscle that my new chubby cheeks and round stomach seem out of place.

Peeta grabs my shoulder and rolls me onto my back. "You think you look disgusting?" he asks, eyes wide. I nod. "Oh, Katniss..."

"You refuse to sleep in the same bed as me, you don't kiss me, and you won't touch me!" I try rolling away, but Peeta holds me still.

We stare at each other, neither of us breathing before his lips are on mine. I'm afraid to push too far, to get too close. But when his hand slips under my shirt, I know we won't stop short. We shift so I'm on top, our lips only breaking apart so Peeta can lift my shirt over my head. He throws it to the side as I unbutton his over shirt. The rolled-up sleeves make it harder to slip off, but I quickly get him shirtless just as he goes for my sports bra.

"No!" I exclaim, removing his hands from the clasp. He looks shocked and almost hurt, so I try to explain. "They hurt when I walk. Imagine if, when..." I look away and blush.

"Okay," he concedes, kissing my cheek. I look up at him through my lashes and we smile. We're not perfect, but we're getting there.

I get off him so he can stand up and take off his pants. I’m so afraid that he’ll change his mind; any second now he’ll back away, leaving me confused.  So the second his erection springs free, I pull him towards me without looking up for permission. Once upon a time, before everything broke, we would jump each other regularly.

He moans when I wrap my hand around him, running it from base to tip. I timidly work him with my hand before replacing it with my mouth. I’ve missed this - how he smells, how he tastes, and how I can make him moan my name in the blink of an eye. Not to mention his panting, how he digs his fingers into my shoulders to keep me in position. My name floats around the room in barely a whisper, heating my body both inside and out. When Peeta presses me down into the mattress, all I have to do to make this go as seamless as possible is scoot up to the top of the bed, resting against the pillows.

He crawls after me like a predator, spreading my legs and slipping a finger inside me to check if I’m ready. “I guess you missed me?”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t be cheesy...” I grumble as he kneels between my legs and enters me. He goes slow at first, almost like he’s afraid he’ll hurt either me or our unborn daughter. Cheesy or not, he’s right - I have missed him. I want his weight on me, but that would be risky while pregnant. Instead, I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him as deep as possible. Every movement is so loving and tender. He brings himself down to kiss me, careful to not rest his weight on me even as he comes inside me. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him tightly, not ready to lose this closeness. He’s stronger than me though, and slips from my clutches with ease.

“Did you...?” he asks shyly.

I shake my head no. He kisses me again, his lips traveling the length of my body. “Wait, you don’t...“ I start, but it’s too late. He sinks one finger inside me, teasing me with a ‘come here’ motion as he laps at my swollen clit. He continues this long after my back is off the bed and I moan his name as my own orgasm ripples through me.

He backs away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I love you...” I finally pant as he flops down next to me.

“I love you,” he echoes, pulling me to him. We lay in a spooning position, enjoying the afterglow of our lovemaking. He lays a hand on my bump, every once in a while running his palm from my navel to my pubic bone. “You know... maybe we should have gotten divorced.”

My heart stops at his words. “What?” I gasp.

“Don’t panic, don’t panic,” he assures, squeezing me to him. “I was just remembering how beautiful you looked when we got married... It would be nice to do that all over again.”

I elbow him. “Don’t be an ass! I’m not supposed to be stressing...”

He chuckles and nuzzles into my hair. “I’m sorry, babe. I love you...”

We lay together for the rest of the afternoon. At dusk, we watch the sunset through our open window, only getting out of our bed to make dinner sans clothes. After we clean up together, we climb back in bed and make up for lost time.

That night, and every one thereafter, I fall asleep in my husband’s arms and wake up with my face buried in his chest.


	39. My Sister, My Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Chelzie for not murdering me!

_August 2006_

One AM. It’s not exactly late, but I’m dead on my feet from work and cannot get comfortable. First, I try lying on my back but become acutely aware of the weight in my abdomen. I shift to each side while my husband snores happily. Stiffly, I move from facing the window to facing him, my back tightening and aching with each move. The doctor says this is normal even early on, that the stretching of my womb might cause back pain. I don’t want to take anything; no Advil, no Tylenol and no Motrin, so I just suffer through it. I feel guilty for not telling Peeta. He wants to hear everything, from each bout of nausea to fatigue or ache, but I don’t want to worry him.

Peeta sleeps like the dead with a peaceful look on his face that makes him look so young and innocent. I can’t help but wonder if this is how he looked when asleep while we were in high school. His arms are crossed over his chest, hands tucked in his armpits. It’s a subconscious defense mechanism he either learned living with two older brothers, from Basic, or during his captivity. I hope it’s one or two. I drag a finger down the contours of his muscular arm. He’s always been like this; thick with muscle, though not like the disgusting body-builder type. I can’t help but wonder if he’ll let his body go soft once his contract is up. Will his muscle give way to lank? He says he’s received offers from the FBI, though he needs more field experience. That could include another contract, though shorter this time. Now that we’ve basically given them ten years of our lives, they’ll only offer us short contracts from here on out. Some people EAS while overseas and choose to re-enlist for only a few months to finish their tour. This is my career, so I’ll be a Marine until my twenty years are up and I can retire, unless I choose to put a few more years under my belt. Who knows? Maybe by the time I’m forty, we’ll be out of the Middle East.

I run my finger down his abdomen and hook my finger in the waistband of his boxers, the light blonde hair just barely rubbing my nail. My body responds even to this slight gesture.  I have three modes – starving, vomiting, and horny. I don’t pressure Peeta for as much sex as my body wants.  Instead, I’ve been indulging myself in the shower, or in the bedroom when he’s still at work or cooking dinner and under the impression I’m feeling sick. Now I’m contemplating whether or not it’s weird to masturbate while my husband sleeps next to me, or if I’ll wake him.

I move my hand away from his boxers. _Baby, I can’t make another one of you while you’re already in there so calm the fuck down,_ I tell the growing fetus inside me, knowing she can’t hear, think, or understand what she’s doing to me just by being there. According to the books I’ve been reading in my free time, she’s basically just a body unconsciously learning to swallow and occasionally twitching as her nerves fire. I haven’t been able to feel that yet, though.

I brush his cheek with my fingers, the stubble around his jaw tickling my knuckles. He scrunches his face and swats my hand away before opening his eyes. When he realizes I’m wide awake, he goes into a panic. A part of me doesn’t understand how he slept in the guest room for a month while I was in the bedroom. “What’s wrong?” he asks, now wide awake.

“Nothing, just can’t get comfortable. My back hurts,” I tell him finally. We’re good for late night confessions. “And my legs. And I’m tired.”

He yawns like a lion. “Sit up,” he commands. I honestly don’t have the energy to argue, so I comply. “Okay, scoot down and cross your legs.” Peeta’s already majorly into the Dad role. “Put your hands on your knees and straighten your back as much as you can.” I follow his instructions and hear him shift behind me. His thumbs start working at the knots in my lower back.

“Can I ask you a question?” Our therapist, counselor or whatever he wants to be called told us to be open and honest with each other. So, here we go.

“Sure, anything,” he tells me.

“Would you be weirded out if I-“ I cut myself off, unable to ask. “I’m sorry. It’s _too_ weird!” Guess I’ve answered my own question. He kisses my shoulder blade and moves his hands down to the base of my spine. “Oh God, yes…” I moan as the tension in my back fades. When he’s satisfied with his work, I stretch out one more time before flopping down on the bed. “Good night…” I yawn, finally comfortable.

“What was your question?” he asks, laying down next to me, his palm resting on my stomach.

“Doesn’t matter… Good night…” I yawn.

* * *

“It’s another hot one today, highs reaching ninety-nine with a heat index of…“ I roll over and slap the snooze button for the third time today. I don’t really feel like going to work today, at least not with my sister arriving tonight.

“Katniss,” Peeta says, but I don’t open my eyes. “I know you’re awake.” I still feign being asleep. “Don’t you have to piss?”

 _Yes, very much so._ “Screw… you…” I yawn, now becoming acutely aware of the pressure on my bladder. I’m not very big yet, but I know it’s only going to get worse. “I’m going to pee the bed,” I tell him.

“Then get up, you have to leave for work soon,” he says before taking my hands and lifting me up. I try to keep my body slack, but he holds me sitting up.

“No, I’m going to do it to spite you.” I still haven’t opened my eyes. Normally, Peeta would just throw me over his shoulder. That’s not exactly recommended in my condition, so he scoops me up and forces me into the bathroom. “Your daughter is very angry at you!” I snap, finally opening my eyes.

“Don’t care, it’s not like she’ll remember this anyways. I’m going to set you down.” The tile floor feels cool against my feet. Wait, everything feels cool. “What do you want for…“ The movement has sent my stomach into a tail spin. Before Peeta can finish asking me what I want for breakfast, I’m over the toilet, vomiting.

It doesn’t last long and when I’m done, Peeta hands me a wad of toilet paper and a cup of water. “I thought morning sickness was supposed to stop after a few weeks…” I groan, sipping on the water, occasionally spitting it out to try and get the taste of bile out of my mouth.

Peeta helps me off the ground and affectionately rubs the back of my neck, trying to rid me of the chills and stress. I lean into him. “We’re never doing this again…”

Over breakfast, which is toast with jam and fruit for me, but coffee and real food for Peeta, he brings up the one topic we’ve been ignoring. “So, names. We know we’re having a girl.”

“No one dead, unless it’s a grandparent or great grandparent.”

“Not Edith,” he tells me.

“What do you have against Edith? Grandma Edith was… Well, she was a crazy old lady, or at least that’s what Mom tells me.”

“Exactly!” I roll my eyes at him and sip my water.

I start ripping apart my crust, “If… If we ever have a son, could we… you know,” I look away, “Name him after my Dad?”

“Of course, but we’re having a daughter, and you said we’re not doing this again.” He gets up and pulls the magnetic pad of paper off of the refrigerator. “So, we have… no one dead, unless they’re a grandparent and not Grandma Edith.”

“Wow, we’ve really narrowed down the list…” I sigh. “I’ll buy a book of baby names to add to our growing library. I have my physical and thirty day psych eval today so they can tell me I should go out on leave in a few weeks…”

“Well, are you?”

I shrug, “Maybe… I don’t know… I don’t think I could stand being in here all day waiting for you to come home, talking to Phoenix and Amal like they’re people…. But my subordinates, they…”

“They what?”

I shrug again. I’ve prepared myself for this as best I could. “They whisper about how I did this to get out of Iraq…” I tug at the hem of my dark green skirt. There’s no use hiding it anymore, no matter what I wear, I look pregnant.

Peeta leans across the table and kisses me lightly, “They’re just stupid,” he says, taking our plates and leaving them in the sink. One of us will deal with it later because due to my antics, we have to rush out the door. Luckily we’re in the same building today, Peeta’s work at the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building done for the month.

 _8 th and I_, we call it, the oldest Marine installation in the United States. As Peeta works on whatever he does in his secretive corner of the building, my job deals with the placement of the Marines chosen to protect the President. It’s basically paperwork, though I have my own office.

With blueprints, I honestly never have to leave the building to ensure President Snow or whoever we’re babysitting is safe, which makes it a perfect position for a pregnant woman. It also makes it insanely boring most of the time. Today’s roster and plans are for a state dinner, which will actually involve me being in the field, though hidden from view. I finalize the roster and positions and am almost ready to send it off to my Colonel when my phone rings. “Lieutenant Mellark,” I answer.

“Please report to the Medical Ward as soon as possible.” Military nurses, always personable.

Prim has told me in college they have something called ‘the walk of shame’ where you head to your apartment or dorm in the same clothes you went out in the night before. Everyone who is awake can tell what you’ve done. Walking through 8th and I right before lunch time is my own walk of shame. All eyes are on the pregnant lieutenant. No woman goes overseas without a pregnancy test. Unfortunately, it still shows negative if you take it only eight or so hours after the act. Of course, they all think I did this to get out of Iraq, even though they shouldn’t. They also know my husband was stateside while I was overseas, so basically, I'm quickly beginning to look like a hussy.

The medical ward here hasn’t seen much remodeling since the base’s installation. It still has that asylum feel I think every hospital in the nineteenth century had. I kick off my shoes and step on the scale, facing away. “When you deployed, you were one thirty five. You’re at one fifty now and due for your physical fitness test,” the physician tells me.

“When I deployed, junior here was just two cells looking for each other so they could multiply,” I retort, rubbing my belly through my jacket and shirt.

She nods. “You know you have two months after you give birth to pass your physical fitness test down in Quantico.”

I step off the scale. “It’s been mentioned…”

“We usually don’t let a woman go past her seventh month because of the risks.” The risks have less to do with me, and more to do with safety and security. If shit hits the fan in DC, I couldn’t be expected to do anything that wasn’t behind a desk.

“My husband and I haven’t exactly talked about maternity leave yet.” The physician just smiles and leaves me alone in a cold, dark room that only adds to the asylum feel.

The shrink comes in and begins asking about how I’m adjusting back to being stateside. I just nod and smile and tell him I’m doing pretty well. He asks me the questions that should be off limits, like about the phosphorous bombs, the hundreds of VBEDs, and finally, about the night I had to be flown to Baghdad with a busted spleen. I just shrug. “I’d like to visit Scotts’ grave, Thresh’s too…and everyone that Coin killed that day. But to be honest, I haven’t really thought about it since getting home…” Until now, that is.

* * *

“So how’d it go?” Peeta asks as I slide in the passenger seat and groan while fighting with my coat. That ends up in the backseat first, followed by my tie and tan shirt until I’m down to my white undershirt and skirt.

“The physician told me I was fat, and the shrink wants to know why I’m not more fucked up,” I shrug. “Also, they said that we should start planning for my maternity leave.”

“And the nursery, and names, and get our marriage out of the shithole…” he grumbles.

I wince and look out the window. What a great conversation to have on the way to one of our last counseling meetings. “I thought we’ve been making some improvements…” I whisper.

He sighs, “We are, it’s just... I’m waiting for you to walk out again, or to close off… or to realize you only came back because-“

“Don’t say it,” I snap.

“I knocked you up!” he finally spits.

“Stop the car,” I order. We’re not in the best neighborhood, so he doesn’t listen at first. “Peeta! Stop the fucking car!” I scream, while throwing on my shoes. “Peeta, I have a gun, stop the fucking car!” _Fucking hormones, calm down… deep breaths…_

He listens and before the car is in park, I’m on the sidewalk. I don’t know what my plan is, but I need to get into the open air until my blood pressure drops and I stop seeing red. I hear the other door open and slam shut. “Katniss, we’re running late, get back in the car!”

“No!” I snap, pacing back and forth, rubbing my stress ball stomach. “How could you! How fucking could you!” Maybe we haven’t been getting better, maybe we’ve just been horny.

“Katniss!” he grabs my arm and I slap him.

“How could you?” I cry, my vision distorted by tears. “I spent almost _every night_ in Iraq trying to figure out what to say when I came home, wondering if splitting would make _you_ happy!” He lets go of me. “Peeta, I could have just as easily not told you, signed the papers and…” I rub my stomach again, scolding myself for even thinking the words ‘ _gotten rid of it._ ’

I look down the road, noticing that we’ve attracted some attention. “We’re running late…” I don’t look at him as I get back in the car.

Neither of us wants to break the silence at first. _What an interesting day of marriage counseling this is going to be._

“Do you really have a gun?” he finally asks. This is my car after all, so he’s not exactly sure what I have stashed and where. I open the glove box and pull out my Glock.

“Peeta, I _always_ have a gun.”

“You wouldn’t have pulled a gun on me,” he says, nodding to himself.

“Yeah, I would have, if you hadn’t pulled over. I wouldn’t shoot you, but I’d pull it out.” More silence, but this time, I’m the one to break it. “At least you didn’t use the dirtiest trick in your book, saying our daughter isn’t yours.”

“I’m sorry…” he mumbles.

We’re as far apart as we can be, but still sitting on the same couch at Dr. Miller’s office. During our last few appointments we’d hold hands, or our legs would be touching… anything but this.

The good doctor notices right away. “We had a fight,” Peeta grumbles before he can ask.

“He thinks I only came back because he got me… what was the phrase you used?” I look at him sideways. “Oh, yes, ‘knocked up’.”

Before the doctor can say anything, Peeta slams his hands down on his knees. “Listen, I’m sorry. It’s what I get all day, every day. The men saying my wife was cheating on me, that I’ll be raising her lover’s baby, or that she only came back to me because she’s pregnant.”

“And I don’t get that either? Peeta, just ignore it! Who cares what they think or what they say! I don’t!” That’s a lie, it does get to you after a while. “The only thing that matters is the three of us!” I’m crying again. I’m about halfway through my pregnancy, but still have weeks and weeks of this shit. “Peeta, get it through your stubborn head. I didn’t come back to you just because I’m pregnant. I came home because I love you! I hurt you when I told you that maybe our first pregnancy ‘didn’t stick.’ I know I hurt you when I shut off last year after we lost him. I know I hurt you when I walked out. And I know, though you won’t ever admit it to me, I hurt you again when I didn’t write and you had to find out I was getting blown up and shot at almost every day from my sister, my mother, or even Gale. I’m sorry, okay? For the thousandth time, I’m sorry. But please, stop seeing our daughter as the only reason I came back. It’s the goddamn slap in the face we both needed so we could get our heads out of our asses.” I rub my stomach as the two men stare at me, shocked. “She’s the light at the end of the tunnel we’ve been stumbling through for the last year and a half.”

I finish my monologue and Peeta moves closer to me, pulling me into his lap. “I’m sorry…” I whisper again as his hands find my stomach. We forget that we’re being watched.

“After we lost the first baby, I shouldn’t have let that distance get between us. I should have held you until we knew how to deal with the pain…” he murmurs, kissing my cheek.

“You’re being cheesy…” I reply, nuzzling into him.

The doctor clears his throat, which causes me to scramble off Peeta’s lap. “I think we’ve made a breakthrough here, or at least got you two to address a major issue instead of just retreating.” We let that sink in for a few minutes, every so often looking at each other and smiling.

He lets us go early, which we’re thankful for. There’s only one more item on the agenda today, taking the dog to the vet for her shots. I decide to stay home to relax, as well as trying to catch up with Gale. Unfortunately for me, the two idiots tag along.

"Holy shit! Seriously, stand up." I roll my eyes, cursing Johanna for giving Gale a webcam. Now he, Finnick and Haymitch want proof that I am indeed incubating human life.

"Don't you three have patrols, or drills, or whatever?" I ask.

"No, stand up, Dingo!" Finnick teases.

I slam my hands down on the kitchen table, the cat running away. I push myself out of the chair and turn to the side. It's not much, but there's no doubt that there's a baby under my shirt. "So who won the bet?" I ask, rubbing my stomach instinctively as I sit back down.

"It's a toss-up. When are you due?" Finnick asks.

"January ninth, I think?"

"Any time between 2007 and 2008 was Johanna. So Johanna wins the pool!"

I hear a knock at the door. "Door's open! I'll be right back, your brother's here," I tell Gale, lifting myself from the chair once more, careful to not rub my belly against the edge. I’m still small, so it’s an easy feat. Though a week ago, I got up suddenly and smacked my abdomen into the table, then proceeded to cry that I was already hurting our daughter. Peeta tried to comfort me, but stood there and laughed when I told him I haven't even had a chance to drop her.

I turn around and a blur of tanned skin and blonde hair hugs me tightly. "Holy shit! Oh my God!" Prim grabs my shoulders and pushes me back so I'm an arm’s length away, then takes a good look at me. "It's really..." She gets down on her knees in front of me. "Hi baby!” she yells as if it can hear her, “I'm your Aunt Prim and I'm going to spoil you rotten, especially since I have to make up for the three months you were in Iraq." I shift uncomfortably. First Peeta, and now Prim. _Does anyone else want to have a conversation with my kid before it can even understand the English language?_  “Your Mom’s kind of an idiot sometimes!” she finishes.

“Hey!”

Rory just sighs and rolls his eyes. "Sorry about her. She's been going crazy ever since you told her it was a girl. And when you told her you were pregnant."

"I have not! Ok, maybe just a little, but it's my first niece. I'm allowed to go crazy and spoil her!" Prim sticks her tongue out. "So, I guess this means you're the designated driver until January!"

"Oh yeah, you turned twenty-one, didn't you... must have slipped my mind," I say, walking away from them while tapping my lower lip. "I guess it's a good thing I made Sae's Everclear-soaked cherries, because no belated twenty-first would be complete without them!" I reach over the half wall separating the kitchen from the living space and pull out the green bottle of Jagermeister. "If you and Rory can function before fourteen hundred tomorrow... I haven't done my job as a big sister."

"They let you buy Everclear and Jager in your condition?" Gale asks. Holy shit, I completely forgot!

I let my sigh pass through my closed lips, giving off what Prim would call a ‘horse sigh.’ "No, I made Peeta pick it up. I don't need people already thinking I'm a shit Mom." I find my one of many bottles of Tums that have been positioned strategically around our apartment. "I'll let them realize that when I actually have my daughter in my arms."

Rory goes to talk to his brother. Prim hesitates, not knowing whether she should follow him.

"Come here, we're going to have girl talk or whatever your kind do," she nods and heads into the kitchen. _How stereotypical._ I watch for a second as Rory laughs at something his brother says. I can't help but think just how much he looks like his Dad. Gale has more Hazelle in him, though he'll never admit it or want anyone to tell him.

"Earth to Katniss?" I'm pulled away from my gawking. Prim has always been a little nosy. Immediately, she begins flipping through our discarded mail before thumbing through something I definitely should have tucked away. "What's this?"

"Specs for a scope in development by this guy Peeta's been going back and forth with over the last few months. It's going to be the most accurate, and apparently I'm one of the first in line to test it. So the SEALS can go suck a dick," I tell her as I pull the paper from her hands. "It won't be done until twenty ten though," I shrug. "Well, approved for testing, most likely. He's shooting for oh eight, but realistically...” I smile. “I'd like to retire the old girl someday."

Prim gives me a disapproving look. My contract is up on May eighth next year. Starting in a few weeks, I'm essentially being forced to take college classes to earn some form of degree as per OCS requirements. I haven’t told Prim I’m re-enlisting yet, though she’s definitely already figured it out.

"They'll send you back even if you're a Mom?"

"Prim, they could decide to send Peeta over to Iraq, Afghanistan, Germany, or to any base tomorrow. And because he's not available for a combat role, we could only have a few days warning."

"They won't do that, they can't," she shakes her head. "No. I won't allow it!" I snort. Prim has a wicked puppy dog pout, but even that couldn't stop a plane.

"Oh, they won't just randomly send him overseas, though I'm pretty much eligible for launch two months after giving birth." Prim gives me another shocked face. "I have two months to lose all the fat and get back in shape to pass the physical fitness test... then they green light me."

"Katniss, how can you talk about that like it's normal? How can you even consider leaving my niece back in the States without her mother?"

"It might not even be a problem. A week or so ago, Peeta and I sat down and wrote a list of things we'd like the other person to do that would make our future better... his was that I put in for my old job."

"What was yours?"

"That he'd sell his truck," I smile. Peeta loves that thing. He bought it when he got his license at sixteen and has somehow kept it running since. It was handcrafted by Chevy at a time when airbags were optional. "And stop leaving knives in the sink."

Prim nearly chokes on the glass of water she had poured for herself. "Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah, I told him if I found another in the sink when I did the dishes, I'd throw it at him!”

Something warm and furry brushes my arm and I scoop up the cat. "It's not dinner time. Just because we're in the kitchen doesn't mean you're getting food," I scold, setting Amal down. He looks like he's thinking of jumping back up when the door opens. A very excited Phoenix charges Prim with the signature Boxer greeting, skull straight into the crotch. I look down the hallway just as Amal’s orange tail disappears into the guest room. That’s the last we’ll see of him until Phoenix learns to behave herself.

Prim pats the dog. "Hello to you too, Phoenix..." As Prim and Peeta exchange pleasantries, the dog immediately forgets all her obedience training, jumping up on Prim as a means of getting attention.

I grab her by the collar and pull her down. "So, how was the vet?"

Peeta kisses my temple. "Good. She's still afraid of needles."

"Oh, you big baby..."

"She _is_ five pounds overweight because _someone_ keeps feeding her table food."

I roll my eyes and lean into my husband. "I can't be the only one getting fat around here. Want to join me? Aw, baby, let’s put on baby weight together!"

"Katniss, you're not getting fat. And anywhere you are putting on weight is a fun place, like your-" Before he can comment about my breasts and backside, I cover his mouth with my hand.

"Peeta, there are young ears in the room!"

Prim rolls her eyes. "Please! It's not like I didn’t live with you two during your ‘honeymoon’ phase, plus it’s cute to see you two acting like newlyweds again."

Peeta and I look at each other and shrug. We still have our moments and arguments, but every day we get closer and closer to our goal of being husband and wife, not roommates who just so happen to have a child on the way. My threatening to pull a gun on him aside… I really should think about getting a safe.

“Only this time, I hope you two understand you’re too old to make out on the counter.” One, where did my sister learn to be so bold? Two, that’s one of our favorite spots to start because we’re usually in the kitchen together. Most foods make me nauseous or ravenous; it’s really hit or miss.

Peeta’s big on the ‘no worrying’ thing. He made the reservations for dinner with my sister and her boyfriend without needing to be asked. I’m almost wondering if I shouldn’t have gotten pregnant right off the bat.

Prim keeps giving nervous glances to the living room, trying to sneak a peek at Rory. “Hey Peeta, why don’t you go get ready for dinner?”

He leaves without an argument, kissing me lightly. I think he wanted to escape Prim’s comments about our sex life when we lived in North Carolina. “Okay, spill it. What’s eating you?”

She jumps up on the counter and sighs. “It’s really nothing… I just…” she motions for me to come closer, “Everyone thinks Rory is going to propose soon. We’ve been together since we were eighteen, but he’s all…” she pauses, pulling back her hair. My stomach flips just thinking about my baby sister getting _married_.

“Young? Primrose Louise, you’re twenty-one. Don’t even think about taking on such a big responsibility.”

“Katniss _Marie_ , seriously. You won with the middle names, what were Mom and Dad thinking?”

“Mom’s grandmother was Louise. You got the great-grandmother name. I got the most common middle name ever. But seriously-“

“But seriously, when you were eighteen, you signed your life away. When you were my age, you were playing with guns near government officials. When you were my age, you were getting ready to go off to war.”

I just shrug. Prim is an innocent little thing sometimes, and I’m thankful for that. She didn’t see all that I did when we were young to keep her that way. “Yeah, well, we’re like night and day. Prim, think about graduating from college and going to med school, then talk about getting married.”

“I’ll be like… twenty-five!”

We stare each other down for a second. Logic isn’t going to win this argument. Prim can defy logic, but I’ll still beat her over the head with it. “Prim,  _I’m_ twenty-five.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been married for two years and have a baby on the way. I’m going to be behind!”

“Seriously. I smacked my husband today, just because we’re blood doesn’t mean I won’t hit you.”

“Blood makes us related, loyalty makes us family,” she says, sticking her tongue out.

I keep my hand low and point at her, “And I _will_ hit you.”

Prim rolls her eyes. “I have to change. Is the guest room open?” I just nod.  Once I’m alone in the kitchen, I put out the food for the animals and clean the dishes we abandoned earlier in the day. I reach into the cold water and feel the long smooth blade of a knife. “Peeta!” I whirl around with the blade in my hand as a very shocked and confused Rory backs away slowly. “This isn’t what it looks like,” I tell him, setting the knife down on the counter.

I hear Peeta’s heavy footsteps, he’s soaking wet with only a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. “What? Are you okay?” He rushes into the kitchen, pushing past poor Rory. “Something wrong?” He puts his hand, thankfully the one that isn’t protecting his decency, on my stomach.

“You left a knife in the sink again! Peeta, I could have cut myself.”

He pouts. “I’m sorry, babe…”

“Go get dressed, you’re making Rory feel awkward. You can run around in your towel later…”

Peeta kisses me lightly. “I’m holding you to that…”

‘ _Thank you,’_ Rory mouths. “Katniss, can I ask you something?” he asks when the coast is clear.

“If you got my sister pregnant, I’m as clueless as you are.”

“Why do you and your mother think that if I want to talk to you about Prim, it’s because she’s pregnant? I… I want to ask her to marry me, but I want it to be traditional, at least the engagement. I can’t ask her Dad and when I asked Gale who I should go to, he told me, ‘If I have any question about who raised Prim, I have no right marrying her.’”

“Well…you should. It’s not like I have to warn you about the family you’re marrying into,” I say bluntly.

Rory nods, “Yeah, poor Vick and Posy, they haven’t lived in PA for so long. They’re going to get back and Ripper and Rooba will probably send who they’re with running for the hills.”

“It’s alright, Red’ll tree them and we can drag them back caveman style.”

I don’t ask Rory when he plans on proposing to Prim, as it’s not really my business. I’m just happy she’s with someone she trusts and who isn’t an asshole.

* * *

“So, have you thought of any names?” Prim asks on our way home from dinner.

“Prim, we haven’t even started working on the nursery yet!”

“You should let someone throw you a baby shower, so the family and everyone else can buy you everything you need.”

Peeta squeezes my hand gently. “A baby shower sounds like a quick way to get everyone to decide if the child of two Marines needs to be dressed head to toe in camouflage, or even worse, pink camo.”

“You had orange camo,” Rory reminds me.

“Yeah, that was so your Grandpa didn’t shoot me thinking my pony tail was a black squirrel. Deer were sure fooled by it, though I did get that coyote to walk right by me in MARPAT right after Basic.”

“That’s because you didn’t wash your pants for two weeks! You just smelled like mud and the forest.” I look up at my husband and grin sheepishly. He didn’t marry a lady.

“You’re not supposed to go hunting in your fatigues,” Peeta fake scolds.

“I’m nervous about tomorrow,” Prim finally says. Oh yeah, I have no idea exactly why she’s even in DC.

“So why are you here?”

She bites her lip and looks away, “Well, I lost my one scholarship, and my Composition professor suggested I submit an essay I wrote for this one English scholarship. The presentation is tomorrow. If I win, I won’t have to take out any loans until med school.”

“Prim, that’s incredible!” I reach out my arm and pull her to me, kissing her cheek awkwardly as she’s just barely taller than me in her heels. “What did you write about?”

“Well, don’t be mad, but you?”

_Oh._

When we get back to the apartment, Prim starts eating Everclear Cherries like M&M’s, quickly going from sober to giddy. “Do you just want to stay here? We have the extra bed,” I ask. Prim is lying across Rory’s lap and meowing at the cat. Though I’m designated driver until January, Rory hasn’t had a drop of alcohol all night.

“Nah, she has to be at Baird Auditorium at ten, and it starts at one.”

“We’ll be there. Did you read what she wrote?”

Rory nods as Prim starts barking, “Yeah…”

“And?”

“Katniss, it's not anything we don’t already know. But seeing it put into words… really brings everything into perspective.” I’m about to beg Rory to send me a copy. I don’t like the idea of Prim telling a roomful of strangers about me, but if it helps her pay for college, I can’t complain. “Anyway, I’m going to somehow get this one back to the hotel. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Peeta helps carry my sister down to their car as I prop my feet up. My worst complaint in ‘Katniss’s Pregnant Adventures’ so far has been the crampy legs. All day every day, my bones scream and I don’t even know why. I rest my hands on my stomach and lay perfectly still, my only movement being the rise and fall of my chest.

In the still of the room, I feel a gentle pop. A rational woman would think it’s gas or even be amazed by their offspring moving inside of them. I decide to cry.

Peeta comes in, laughing about my sister not being able to stand. I look up through my teary eyes and the color drains from his face. “Katniss, what’s wrong?”

He sits next to me and pulls me into his lap. “She… she moved!” I sniff.

“So they’re… happy tears?” he asks hopefully.

“I… No? Yes? Both?” I sniff and wipe my nose on the back of my hand. “She’s real. This is all real. I’m not going to wake up and discover this is a dream.” Peeta rubs my stomach. I don’t know if he can feel her yet, but his touch gets me out of the sobs and back into sanity. “She’s in there…” I tell him, amazed.

Peeta chuckles and looks up at me. “You’re something, Katniss…”

“Shuddup… I’m going to rinse off before bed. I feel sweaty…” I kiss his cheek, my hysterics in the past.

I’m barely in the shower for a minute when I hear the door open, “You forget something, hun?” I ask, getting my hair wet.

“Yeah, how hard it is to get the image of you naked in the shower out of my head,” he growls and closes the door behind him. I watch through the crack in the shower curtain as he disrobes and climbs under the lukewarm water.

His fingers tangle in my hair as his lips brush against mine. “We can’t in here, what if I slip?” I ask. God, sex sounds amazing. It’s one of those things I’ve been ignoring because of stress or inappropriate timing most days, thanks to my libido. Peeta grabs my shoulders and turns me around so my back is against his chest, his erection pressing against my backside. The shower head beats against my breastbone while Peeta starts massaging my breasts. “No, but they’re… oh…” I melt into him. It won’t get rid of the constant, heavy achiness of my breasts, but it still feels good in the meantime. He moves his hands down the rise of my stomach and I widen my stance before wrapping my arm somewhat awkwardly around his slick waist for support. He’s an expert with my body; despite almost a year ‘away’, he still knows exactly how to make me sing.

My moans and near screams when I orgasm get the dog going and she scratches at the door. “Go away, Phoenix!” Peeta commands before kissing my temple. I’m still like jell-o, only standing because of my husband. I don’t know what it is about being pregnant, but orgasms are so much more intense. Actually, intense doesn’t even begin to cover it, more like mind melting.

Once my heart slows and my breathing returns to normal, I stand on my own two feet. “Now you.”

I turn and wrap one arm around his shoulders, my free hand firm around him. I kiss him, a sweet kiss that quickly heats up as his moan vibrates in my mouth. I know he’s close when he starts thrusting into my hand. Moments later, his hot seed spills onto my thigh.

“I love you…” he murmurs.

“And I love you.”

Once we’re in bed, I fall asleep with my back pressed against his chest, his hand spread out over my stomach, covered by my own.

In my dream, the earth shakes. I open my eyes and try to take a breath, only to be met by a raging fire and burning smoke. “Peeta!” I scream, finding the other half of the bed empty. I choke on the smoke and scramble out of bed. “Peeta!” I call again, “Please, where are you?” I open the guest room expecting to find the same double bed and dresser, but instead find a lovely pink nursery and my husband rocking a small, pink bundle. It’s our daughter.

“Peeta, the building’s on fire! We have to go!”

Instead of getting up, he hushes me as the baby starts crying. “She knows you never wanted her…” he sighs as I hack up smoke. “She’s beautiful… has your eyes.”

“Peeta! We have to go! We’ll die!”

“You can’t even think of her as a baby, just a _thing_ growing inside you. You were so scared when she moved today, so afraid to realize she’s alive. How could you be so cold?”

“I didn’t… I… that doesn’t matter! If we don’t get out now, we’ll die! The building will collapse or we’ll suffocate and burn!”

Peeta finally looks up from our daughter, his eyes black as the night. “How can you expect a building to stand when the foundation has been reduced to ash?”

I hear a creak and look up just as the celling gives way. “Please come back! Wake up!” a muffled voice says.

My eyes meet only darkness but I know I’m awake, and I know I’m safe. “I’m here… I’m here,” I tell him between choking breaths. I can barely sleep for the rest of the night, but I’m okay with it. I just wait with both hands on my stomach for there to be another popping, another flutter, anything to prove that what’s growing inside me is real.

“You should talk to your doctor…” Peeta mumbles sleepily about an hour after my nightmare.

“No medication,” I grumble. “I don’t want her coming out hooked on benzos or have her little mind warped by things I’m taking…”

“Katniss, the doctor said-“

“Peeta, I trust my instincts…” I‘m on the lowest possible dose of my antidepressant, plus they switched me to a ‘safe’ benzo, also at the lowest dose, though I haven’t filled the prescription. I left it on the kitchen counter after my appointment and it sat there for days until it vanished. I know Peeta filled it, just in case I can’t get through a particularly bad nightmare or snap back to reality.

“I know…” he says, pulling me close. “I’m just...“ He pauses, kissing the side of my head, “Nervous…”

“Well, don’t be. We’ve been through worse… a few rainy days won’t matter once she’s here…”

* * *

 “You look adorable,” Peeta says and kisses my cheek.

“People are staring,” I whine, pulling the neckline of my dress out some to get some air at my chest. “And where is Rory!”

“You are so impatient…”

“It’s one hundred and ten degrees, humid, and three people have come up to me and rubbed my stomach because apparently, that’s okay,” I cross my arms over my chest. “And you wouldn’t let me strap a-“

“Hey! Sorry, Prim’s nervous,” Rory tells us.

“Her and me both…” I grumble as we head inside.

Peeta tries to hold onto my hand when we sit down. Instead, I twist up three programs while my leg goes nuts. I don’t even listen to the four kids that go ahead of Prim. They already had it narrowed down to five finalists.

“And our last speaker today is Primrose Everdeen, a senior at Duke University, Pre-med.” I stiffen in my seat, my back perfectly straight as Prim walks onto the stage.

“Hello,” her voice echoes through the auditorium. “This didn’t exactly translate into the best speech, but here we go. When I was given the assignment to write about my personal hero, the first thing I thought was 'What am I, in middle school again?'” She pauses and licks her lips, something she does when she’s nervous. “I talked through the assignment with a few friends. They were all writing about athletes, actors, and musicians. I chose to write about the Marines, more specifically, my older sister. In 1991, when she was ten and I was six, our father, Lieutenant Abraham Everdeen, was captured. We waited nervously until June to hear of his rescue. In early June, we got word that he and several other POW's including my now boyfriend's father, Master Sergeant Hawthorne, were rescued. Most, including my father and Sergeant Hawthorne, did not survive their injuries. The day of my father’s funeral, I didn't understand the terrible burden that was placed on my sister's shoulders. Not far from here, in Arlington, Virginia, she was handed a flag and the responsibility of caring for our family. I was too young to understand what was going on, and our mother was too sick with grief. The first few weeks were easier than the months ahead. My mother and I mourned, a luxury that my sister wasn't allowed for months.” She clears her throat and pauses for a second, finally scanning the crowd for me. Our eyes meet and she smiles sheepishly. I just nod, encouraging her to continue.

“Somehow, even at ten, Katniss managed to keep food on our table through the summer and even the fall. Then winter came. In the mountains of Pennsylvania, everything seems to go into hibernation after the first frost. Winter 1992 was one of the harshest winters in recent history. On November first, they shut off our electricity, followed by our gas the next day. Katniss tried to get food or money from our family, though they were almost in the same condition as us. Coal towns didn't fair very well, though we're too stubborn and loyal to move. When things got really bad, my sister would go out and beg no matter how proud she was.”

She smiles, her eyes flicking to me. “And still is. We'd make whatever she got last for a week or more. Until one day, when she came home. Her face was bruised, her feet were blistered and she had been out in the freezing rain all day. I never asked her where she got the food or where the bruises came from, and neither did our mother.”

I finally take Peeta’s hand. Our fingers lace together and I squeeze tightly. “It was that day when our mother woke from being shut off for almost a year. We started getting government aid. Money was tight, but at least we could eat. My sister, though, would never have a carefree day again. She didn't trust our mother to not tune out again. I remember days where she'd go hungry just so Mom and I could eat. She started working under the table at a restaurant when she was fifteen, every cent going towards bills or food. When she was sixteen, she got the bright idea to drop out of high school, thinking she could get a second job for more money. Her dream was for me to college so I could make something of myself. She and our Mom fought for days after Mom threw her drop-out papers into the wood stove. Her thought was that she'd just do it when she turned eighteen, three weeks before her high school graduation. Katniss got back at Mom, though, when she announced that she was enlisting. In most places when someone decides to join the Marines, they can join the Young Marines program, get physically conditioned for Basic Training and help with the ASVAB. We didn't have that option.”

“Every day, Katniss would wake up at five thirty to make sure I had a hot breakfast, then walk to school. Six days a week, she would work until ten and then come home to help me with my homework. Finally, she'd study for the ASVAB until one or two in the morning before going to bed to do it all over again. Watching my sister graduate from high school, and then Basic training thirteen weeks later, are still some of my happiest memories. They were the first two times my sister genuinely smiled since our father’s death. She didn't come home with us, though. Because of her high ASVAB scores, she was allowed to take on Sniper Training and didn't hesitate saying yes. You can count the number of female Marines who are trained as snipers on one hand. And just because she could, she also became a certified Counter sniper. This caught the attention of the head of the Marine team in charge of security for the President and other government officials. Mom and I moved to DC to be with Katniss. I remember the twelve hour days, the trips around the world, and even September 11th. She almost went AWOL just to make sure Mom and I were far away from any important buildings. Thankfully, we had cell phones to stay in touch. I wanted Katniss to come home, but she couldn't abandon her post at the White House even though the President was in Florida. At nine in the morning, I got a call telling me to get out of the city, and that she loved me no matter what happened. She made me promise that if something happened to her, I'd do my homework and go to college. I didn't hear from her until she stumbled through the door at four in the morning on the twelfth, immediately collapsing and sleeping until three the next day.”

“We were at war, which made Katniss restless. People she had trained with were going off to Afghanistan while she, in her own words, sat stateside 'twiddling her thumbs.'  She started arguing with her Commanding Officer, stating that she had a specialized skill that could be used overseas, and that she was doing nothing in the States. On May eighth of 2003, we solemnly celebrated her 22nd birthday, and two days later, she was off to Iraq. She pretended she wasn't afraid, but I knew better.”

I watch Prim shift uneasily on her feet, almost as if she thinks she’s sharing too much. “Katniss fought for her life, for her own personal honor, as well as the honor of the Marine Corps, even when the men and women who were supposed to have her back didn't have the decency to do so. She met the man she'd eventually marry and even kept her head high when he was captured. She came home safe, but not without both physical and mental scars. She's never stopped fighting, and never will stop fighting. She did it for food when we were kids, to keep me in school when she was a young adult so I could get into a good college, and even now as she tackles her next challenge, motherhood. I have to wonder what our country would be like if everyone had the same drive, stubborn determination and loyalty as my sister does. My sister, my hero, gave up her childhood so I could have one, gave up meals so I never went hungry, and worked until she was dead on her feet so we could pay our bills. My sister is willing to lay her life down for strangers just so they can stay free. Some people's heroes are athletes, actors, singers, musicians. My hero is my sister, Lieutenant Katniss Mellark, and someday I hope to be half the woman that she is.”

When I’m deafened by applause, I finally exhale and bring my hand up to wipe the tears from my eyes. I feel so exposed and stripped raw. The entire room has been made privy to the somewhat hellish life I’ve endured over the last fifteen years. Peeta rips me from my sorrow spiral by kissing my hair.

“I didn’t…” I say, swallowing. “I didn’t realize I had that much of an impact on her life…” I whisper.

Peeta just wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me. We sit in a comfortable silence, waiting for them to announce the winner. We’re not at all surprised when it’s Prim.

* * *

“Are you done cringing?” I look up from my spot on the ground right before Prim tackle hugs me.

“I wasn’t cringing!” I smile.

“Yeah, you were grimacing, waiting for me to tell everyone your deep, dark secrets.”

“I knew you were smarter than that,” I lie. To be honest, I’d been waiting for her to go off about my rebellious teen years when the back seat of Cray’s Crown Vic didn’t even have a chance to get cold. “But rule number three…”

“Don’t squeal,” Rory finishes.

Prim gets a few feet away from me but I pull her back, not willing to let her go. I’ve been so caught up in my own life to realize how much I really and truly miss having her close to me every day.

* * *

“I hate food shopping…” I grumble. “You’re visiting, why did you drag me out of the house?”

Prim managed to talk me into actually going food shopping. Peeta had been called into work even though it was Sunday, and Rory had artfully escaped this adventure. “Because I miss spending time with you and you need to do it?”

I usually shop at night when all the annoying little animals are in bed. “We should be going to museums and bars, or…”

“Yeah! I’m going bar hopping with my five month pregnant sister. Pass!” Once we get our shopping done, I watch as a miserable looking mother lets her little shit head scream and beat on her while knocking things off shelves.

The woman sighs. “Motherhood, right?” she asks.

“No…” I shake my head.

The woman snorts, clearly the world expert in child behavior and parenting. “Your first?” she asks.

Oh my God! Go away, and take your little bastard with you! “Yeah,” I reply, keeping my answers nice and short. Maybe she’ll realize the swell under my shirt isn’t an invitation to talk to me.

“Just wait. When they’re two, everything goes downhill. You can’t keep control of them.”

“Yes, you can,” I snort. “If my daughter leaves the house and acts like that, I’d be so ashamed of myself. I wouldn’t show my face in public until I took some parenting classes and learned not to blame the thing that’s running around because it’s a sponge learning from me.”

The woman looks like I slapped her as Prim and I walk away. “You’re going to be one of those mothers that hates every child but her own,” Prim says with a sigh.

“Yup,” I smile.


	40. All We'd Ever Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap… Two updates in one night? How does this happen!?
> 
> Also Chapter 40? I think I’m dying a little. Thank you so much, readers - especially those of you who have been with me since the beginning. I’m surprised I haven’t bored you to tears. I know we’ve gotten a little away from the war and action, but I’ve been trying to touch on other issues. 
> 
> Thank you Chelzie for sticking with me for so long and for giving me moral support when I’m bugging out.

_September 2006_

“So you’re…” I pause as another gust of wind shakes the apartment. It’s the first of September and we couldn’t say goodbye to summer in a better way. I hate hurricanes. “Sorry, I think the building’s going to blow over… You’re moving here?”

“Well, they need a Colonel, since yours is retiring in a few weeks…”

“Yeah, yeah…” I turn the page in the parenting book I’m reading. “More importantly, when did you get a promotion?”

Haymitch snorts on the other end of the phone. “When I played an integral role in the removal and shaming of General Coin, and something boring with her war crimes trial?”

“Snitch,” I tease. “But thanks. What’d she get?”

“Well, let’s just say that she’s as good as dead; metaphorically, of course.”

I lay back on the couch, shifting so the phone is sandwiched between my shoulder and ear. I attempt to stretch my sore legs, but the growing swell under my shirt makes this next to impossible. “So, when are you getting here?”

“Everything’s packed. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Good luck,” I tell him as the lights flicker some. Peeta has been locked away in the guest room, now nursery, since before I woke up. I’m not allowed in there until he’s done. “Hurricane Ernesto has pretty much barricaded us in the house.”

“You two murdering each other yet?”

“Please… I-“ Suddenly, the lights flicker and cut out and the phone goes silent. “Electricity _and_ phone?” I grumble, tossing the receiver to the side. A thump comes from the other room, “Shit…” Peeta enjoys dark, enclosed spaces just as much as I like fireworks.

It takes me a minute to get up, and after running into the coffee table and tripping over the dog, I push my way into the nursery. “Peeta?” I say, but he just stares ahead, confused. I walk to him and take his hands in mine. “Let’s take a break. Now that the power’s out, I’m bored.”

“Thanks…” he mumbles before hugging me tightly. “We could narrow down the list…”

He closes the door behind us and I make a beeline to the couch. “You mean… the whole book?” It’s obvious he was more studious than I. On top of working full time, he’s managed to mark names in three different books over the last month. I flick at some of the tabs. “Now I know why you graduated high school close to the top of our class and I was on the verge of failing.”

Peeta rolls his eyes. “Madison?”

“No. Too…Fourth president. Next?” I lay down and rest my head in his lap.

Time ticks by and our list grows shorter and shorter. “My hotel’s booked…” he finally tells me. Our final step in counseling is to spend a week apart to decide if staying together is the right thing for us. He runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to distract me.

“We should have just lied… It’s stupid to-“

“Katniss, it’s seven days. We spent almost three months apart…”

I scrunch my face up. “But it’s different now. I’m pregnant.”

His hand stops suddenly. “You were pregnant then, too… It’s just different because things are almost right now…” he grumbles. We sit quietly for a minute. “At least while you’re home, I know no one’s going to take shots at you, or try and blow you up…”

“If I don’t die of boredom first…” I yawn, shifting so I’m facing his stomach. “So what do we have left?”

“Two more,” he says, bringing the list down so I can see it.

“I like this one,” I point to the first name on the left, “With this one as the middle name.”

“Me, too,” he agrees, running his finger under the spaghetti strap of my nightgown, sliding it down my arm until my breast is exposed.

“Seriously? We’re talking about what to name our daughter!” I sit up and fix my nightgown.

Peeta wraps his arms around me and pulls me back to him. “And it’s also dark and my eyes aren’t what they used to be.” I roll my eyes and shift so I’m straddling him. Unfortunately, the growth in my lower abdomen makes it impossible for us to get close. On top of that, the second I’m in his lap, the already excited dog thinks we’re playing and jumps so her paws are on my back.

Phoenix barks loudly in my ear and Peeta knocks her away. “Go lay down!” he scolds.

She begrudgingly listens, curling up on her bed as Peeta takes my face in his hands. “What am I going to do with you?” he says, kissing my nose.

I climb out of his lap and take his hands just as the apartment lights up. The white lightning fades and thunder replaces it. “Come.”

I lead the way to the bedroom and he closes the door. I grab his shirt, my finger touching some still damp paint and dab his nose. “Are all artists this messy?” I ask, lifting his shirt over his head.

“I don’t know…” I pull his belt away from him and toss it to the floor while he takes care of his pants. I lift off my nightgown and look over him. In three years, he’s barely changed, yet here I am completely different. I’m not wearing the right skin, my breasts are too large, and my stomach far too round. The only thing that’s stayed the same are my legs. Besides my larger backside, I still have the same muscular but twiggy legs.

“Stop that,” he admonishes, grabbing my shoulders so I can’t help but look at him. He has to be used to this by now, me being overly critical about the changes my body is going through.

“I can’t help it…” I take his hand and pull him to our bed. My back hits the sheets and I feel it, the mood killing kick of our daughter at my insides. Today, her target of choice is what I can only assume to be my kidneys. I feel bad for Peeta; she’s got it in for my organs and he’s only felt her one or two times.

“Again?” he asks, laying down next to me. I honestly didn’t think he minded that we could only have sex during our daughter’s ‘down time’, which is also when the sun is up. Any more, it seems that she likes to beat on me after dark.

“I’m sorry?” I say as he pulls me to him. The air is already getting hot and humid without the air conditioning or open window to circulate things. We stick together, but ignore it for as long as possible.

“I finished the nursery right before the power went out. I just need to clean up in the morning when I can see… then I can show you.”

I just nod and we fall asleep together on top of the sheets, our skin stuck together in the humidity.

I hate sleeping away from Peeta, so when he leaves for work on the first day of our ‘week apart’, I go through my entire routine while trying not to cry.

I finally head to work, feeling antsy the whole time. _You can do this, you can do this…_ I tell myself over and over as I work through the day. Apparently, I’m moodier than normal on days one and two, and by day three, everyone I work with writes it off as another pregnancy mood swing. I prefer to call it two days without sleep. Peeta chases away my nightmares. Without him, everything I dream about is vicious and horrible; me losing the baby, her being taken from me, or Peeta coming back from overseas in a coffin.

“What climbed up your ass and died?” Haymitch asks. Sometimes I try to forget that he’s my commanding officer again. It’s easy when we’ve eaten dinner with the Abernathy herd three times since they’ve moved up here.

“Nothing,” I snap, tapping some papers into a manila folder. “Everything is _just fine_.”

“Good, good… So what are you wearing to the wedding?”

“Wedding?” I slap my forehead. “Shit, I forgot! That’s in two weeks, right?” Something scared Finnick shitless over in Iraq. He got off the plane in the States and immediately proposed to Annie. The wedding is going to be a quiet affair in the middle of October. Haymitch, Maysilee, Peeta, and I are making the trip while their oldest watches the kids, minus baby Olivia, who at only three is too young to stay with her sisters.

“Have you talked to Peeta about booking a hotel, or are you staying with your Mom? Josie and Gale are letting us crash with them.”

I stiffen at the mention of Peeta, immediately angry. Not at him, per se, but at this whole stupid situation. “I don’t know… Peeta’s getting very accustomed to hotels this week!” I snap, slamming down the file.

“You two didn’t split, did you?” Good ol’ Haymitch, nice and blunt, as always.

“No, it’s just a stupid week separation for our stupid marriage counseling so we can make sure we’re making the right decision.”

“Tell me how you really feel. You ready to go?”

I cock an eyebrow. “Go where?”

He slaps his forehead. “Oh, for shit’s sake, sweetheart! What day is it? Do you even _look_ at your calendar?” I pick up the file on my desk. Written in big bold letters on today’s date, it reads, ‘Security briefing at White House, 1300.’

“Crap, I didn’t eat. I lost track of time!” I end up eating half of a sandwich Maysilee made for Haymitch on the ride over, nibbling quietly. We had to have a driver, since apparently Snow is tightening his security.

We go through the meeting quickly, breezing through placement, how we’ll be there but unseen on Friday. “Mr. President, you’re in the best hands possible.”

He snorts skeptically. “Can you even fire a gun, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, very well,” I tell Snow. He won’t use my married name, I’m just my rank. “I’ll just have to improvise when it comes to the prone firing position.”

Effie Trinket, Snow’s little secretary, sits stiffly, taking notes. “You look like you’re ready to pop!” she finally gasps.

I'm not huge. Hell, I still have until the beginning of January! “I still have a while…”

“Colonel, Miss Trinket, could you please excuse the Lieutenant and I?” Snow asks. When I see him stand, I know it's a race to see who could get up slower, the elderly president or the pregnant woman. Clearly, Snow’s had some practice with this.

He leads me out of his office and into the warm pre-fall air. “Lieutenant, do you know the sentence for perjury?”

“No, Mr. President, I don’t.”

He smiles as we walk through his personal garden, the hundreds of pungent rose bushes choking me. “It’s a $5,000 fine or up to ten years in prison. When you came on board to protect me when you were just a girl, we promised each other something… Do you remember what that was?”

“That we wouldn’t lie to each other.”

“Yes, and here you are. Using that Sergeant’s name, his ring on your finger and his child in your belly,” I nod in response. “And this close to that sheep Marvel’s parole hearing.”

I stop dead in my tracks. “His… his what?”

“Oh, yes. Model inmate, that one. All four of them, in fact.” He leans over to pluck a pink bud and hands it to me. “For your daughter,” he says.

“I never said I was having a girl, but you’re right.”

Snow smiles, his old eyes shining. “You’re carrying very high. My wife did with our two daughters, but then our son came along and she was carrying down around her ankles, he was so low.”

“That sounds unpleasant,” I mumble as the baby shifts inside me, either a stretch or her rolling over. Either way, I don’t particularly enjoy it, and actually find it terrifying, though it means we’re just another terrifying punch closer to my little parasite being brought into the world.

I spend that night in the nursery, folding up our quilt like a mattress. I stare for a few minutes at the tree Peeta painted in the corner. When we move, we’ll have to paint over it eight times over. But for now, I’m comforted by the sprawling branches on the light green background.

The dog and cat curl up next to me, an acceptable substitute for Peeta, but not enough… Nothing’s enough.

“Fucking marriage counseling…”

* * *

Hot air chokes me as the brutal wind beats against my face. I reach for the goggles on my helmet but feel only my hair. “Katniss!” the voice is so familiar, but I can’t place it. I reach for my radio but instead feel skin.

“Fuck, am I naked!?” I look down at myself and as always, I can’t see my feet. Rather, I see the billowy white material of my dress. I look behind me, the material dirtied by the desert ground.

“Katniss!” There’s that voice again. I walk to it through the brutal wind which kicks dust into my face.

“Who’s there?” I shout. “Show yourself!”

A body takes form and I have to rub my eyes several times to prove that it’s not a mirage. “Daddy!” I holler, running to him. But when I finally reach the spot, he disappears from view. “No!” I scream. “No! Come back! You can’t leave again!” I fall to my knees, sobbing. “No! Please, come back!” I finally yell the words I had buried long ago. “You promised! You promised you would come back to us! The day you left, you told me you could never leave your girls behind! You lied!”

My shouts echo throughout the desert. “We needed you!” A gust knocks me to the ground and I just curl up. “We needed you… all those years… Why didn’t you run?”

Something hot and wet pulls me from my nightmare. “Phoenix… Stop… I’m up…” I roll over slowly, expecting to find Peeta, but instead see the legs of the crib.

“I’m done playing this game,” I tell the animals before heading to the kitchen. I dial the number of Peeta’s hotel and then his room number. He picks up on the second ring. “Katniss? What’s wrong?”

“Our first time together in DC, you made a promise to me. Meet me on the steps of the St. Regis in a half hour.”

“Katniss… It isn’t even…“ Is he still questioning us?

“I’ll be there. If you don’t show up, I'll understand.” I hang up and rush into the bedroom, putting on a bra and changing out of my t-shirt. I know it’s going to be cold, so I choose a pale orange sundress along with one of Peeta’s zip-up sweatshirts.

When I get to the St. Regis, he’s not there, but I’m early. I wait, rubbing my stomach and shivering like a fool in the early fall chill. Finally I see him, and it’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. My legs start moving against my will, moving me towards him. His warm arms wrap around me and our lips meet.

There are some kisses you know you’ll remember forever, and this is one of those few. It’s a promise to put the past behind us, to move forward as a family no matter what the world throws at us, and that no matter how rough the road gets, we’ll travel it together.

Peeta’s fingers tangle in my hair as we kiss like no one’s watching. Hey, at two am in DC, there’s _always_ someone watching. I feel a swift kick on the outside of my stomach and Peeta pulls back. “Was… was that?”

I nod, my eyes blurry from tears. “Mhm! She wants you to come home.”

“Well… I can’t say no to her already…”

I head back home while Peeta gets his things. He enters the apartment quietly and I pounce on him. We have a few days of kissing to make up for, even though we’re still playing catch up.

He drops his suitcase and pushes me into the wall. “This is a much better welcome home than our last one…” he whispers. I kick off my sneakers as he assaults my neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” I groan. “I seem to have forgotten the last year of my life, my darling.” We’re supposed to put it all behind us. Never look back, only forward.

The sweatshirt falls to the ground and I lift his shirt over his head. “We should go into the bedroom before the dog gets excited…” he tells me before scooping me up in his arms.

“Where’s the quilt and my pillow?” he asks, setting me on the bed.

“Baby’s room,” I reply. He shakes his head and leaves the room while I struggle to get my dress over my head, the waist getting stuck on my breasts. Suddenly, the material is off me and halfway across the room. I’m embarrassed by my awkward struggle, but it all goes away when I see the hungry eyes of my husband.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, covering my body with my arms, but there’s nothing I can do to hide my stomach.

“Because you’re gorgeous? Because I’m not sure if you could be any sexier than right now?” He hooks his thumbs in my underwear and tugs them down. I go for his belt and his pants.

“Should I be worried about you wanting me after we have the baby?”

I sit down on the bed and he pushes me into it, straddling as high on me as he can manage. “The second they say we can have sex again, we’re going to start practicing for the next one.” He pins my hands above my head and leans down to kiss my neck again, being careful to not put any pressure on my stomach.

“The next one?” I gasp.

He rolls off me and I sit up a little. “Yeah, I love my brothers and you love Prim. I couldn’t imagine how miserable it would have been growing up without them. But the second you can, you’re going back on your pill so we don’t have any more surprises.” As he speaks, he gets closer to my stomach before kissing it. “Not that we don’t mind, little miss.” I grab his shoulder and shove him down into the bed. The only thing keeping us apart are his boxers, which I toss across the room.

“Let’s not talk about our future children right now, okay?” I ask as I take him into my hand. “Or I’ll roll over and go back to sleep.”

His eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare…” I roll my eyes and take him into my mouth just long enough to get him wet, then move to straddle him. The only way to comfortably have sex any more is with me on top or on my hands and knees. I close my eyes as I lower myself onto him, and when I open them, he’s staring at me.

“Don’t do that!” I snap. “Just… look… I don’t know. I’m all chins, and jowls, and awkwardly big breasts.”

“Katniss…” he groans, “Just… I’ll close my eyes, just move. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

I wait for his eyes to squeeze shut before I slowly start riding him. “I love you…” I say. He opens his eyes and they meet mine. Peeta gives me a sheepish smile, but his eyes never leave mine. When all’s said and done, we lay facing each other in our bed.

“We have to get up in three hours…” he yawns.

“Worth it,” I murmur while leaning in to kiss his nose.

“Because you couldn’t have waited until the sun was up?”

I just smile and move in closer to him. “People do crazy things when they’re in love…”

* * *

_October 2006_

“Anyone have to go to the bathroom? I’m looking at you, sweetheart.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m already buckled in,” I tell him as I take a drink. “And if I need to go, I’ll just make Olivia pester you until you pull over. I can piss in the woods…”

Two liters of water and five bathroom stops later, we’re in North Carolina. We walk into my mother’s house without knocking. “Momma! We’re here!”

There’s an eerie calm before one loud squeal erupts. “Oh, look at you! Prim said you were getting big!” I’m blindsided by my mother.

“Yeah, I’m a planet now! How are you?”

“I’m good,” she says, looking over my shoulder. “Hello, Peeta. I trust you’re taking good care of my daughter?”

He smiles. “You’d have to ask her.”

She buries her face in my shoulder, making my sweater damp. “I’m going to be a Grandma!” she finally cries, which of course gets me going. Peeta excuses himself while Mom and I cry together. “You’re married and starting your family, Prim’s getting married,” she wipes her eyes. “I’m getting old…”

I pull my crying mother close. “It seems like yesterday Gale was feeding you grass in our backyard… and now my baby is having a baby!”

I’m not the best with crying people, even if it’s my own mother, so I just pat her back and wait for sanity to catch up with her. “To be fair, I almost got Gale to eat a dead snake once.”

I spend most of the afternoon with my mother. “So, what’s your plan?” she asks.

I thumb through the pictures Mom has of our first year being married. “Well, go to the dinner tonight, watch Finnick and Annie get married, celebrate with them, then get back in the car and head back to DC.” I run my fingers across a picture from just after our first dance. Peeta holds me flush against his body, his face buried in the crook of my neck. “I love this one…”

“No, I meant your birth plan.”

I shrug. “I wouldn’t mind a home birth, like with Prim and I… but Peeta won’t have it. Now I think I’m going to go for the whole thing; the needle in the back, the sterile hospital. I just want to get her out of me. I don’t need a gold star at the end.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t still going for a natural birth just because you can. That’s why you do everything else you do.”

I smile and flip to our first Christmas. “God, I wish I could tell this girl how hard things are going to be in a few months…”

Mom rests her hand on my thigh. “She had to learn somehow… be happy, Katniss. You two had the worst of it early on.”

When we head to dinner, Peeta never lets go of my hand. Every time we get a ‘congratulations’, he gets this proud look on his face. “So, what’s next for Mrs. Johanna Hawthorne?” I ask as we watch our husbands get rowdy in the Odair’s backyard.

“I’m EASing in two months. I’ll work on base as a civilian while going to school to become a nurse,” she says, leaning back in her chair and sipping at her beer. “The VA helped me. I figured I’d give them my time… that is, if Gale doesn’t stop bugging me for a kid.” She reaches over and rubs my stomach. “He doesn’t want to be outdone.”

I roll my eyes. “He has nothing to worry about. If my sister and his brother have a kid before you two, then he’ll probably turn into broody Gale.”

She snorts. “And we don’t want that…”

“Oh, here they go…” Maysilee sighs. “You know we’re all with children, right?”

I look behind me just as my husband pins Finnick to the ground. I jump up. “Peeta! Your leg!”

“Finnick! If you’re limping tomorrow, we’re getting a divorce!” Annie gasps.

“Pin him, blondie!” Johanna yells. “Then get mine!”

Maysilee shifts Olivia in her arms. “Those are your Daddy’s friends. If you or any of your sisters bring home anyone like them, your Dad will probably have a coronary!”

Finnick’s father tries to keep Daniel still during the ceremony, but eventually the boy squirms away from his grandfather and hugs his father’s legs. Finnick doesn’t miss a beat and picks up his boy.

“Let’s renew our vows…” Peeta whispers in my ear, just as the pair share their first kiss as husband and wife.

I rest my head on his shoulder, the excitement of the day already getting to me somehow. “Sure, when we get back home. It’ll be just you and I.”

His large hand rubs my stomach. “And her.”

The reception is small, mostly Marines and a little family. Annie’s relatives seem proper and a bit stuffy. I kind of want to lock them in Sae’s barn on a summer night after the white whiskey makes an appearance, or when the flea market is there and someone tries to get some coin for a deer head needing to be stuffed that they’ve kept on ice for a few months. Nothing smells better than six month old deer head.

“I’m going to get you to dance tonight,” Peeta vows.  I just roll my eyes at him, perfectly content with sitting on my ass while my feet try to swell anyway.

“You’re going to say the same thing in November, too…”

He opens his mouth to confirm my suspicions but Annie, having already thanked all their guests for coming, has pried herself away from Finnick. “We did it!” she sighs happily. “We finally did it. After… after everything…” Her eyes go blank for a second before she hugs Peeta. “Thank you…” I hear her whisper before her attention switches to me. “And look at you!” I back my chair out but don’t stand. _Someone_ who I hope never has sex again talked me into heels today, and I’m pretty sure my feet give an audible ‘no’ with every step.

“Yeah, I figured you showed up at my wedding pregnant, I couldn’t be outdone.”

“Just wait. We should arrange a marriage between this little one and Daniel,” she jokes, rubbing my stomach.

“Let’s wait like thirty years before even worrying about that!”

Peeta basically has to carry me home. He ended up coercing me into dancing in traditional dance floor footwear, panty hose. By about eight, though, I have holes in the heels and balls of my feet. I spent far too long trying to get these things on to just rip them off.

Instead, I let Peeta take care of it when we got back to my mother’s house. “Katniss, how am _I_ supposed to sleep with you laying across the bed?”

I roll my eyes and attempt to peel off these horrible things. With his body heat, it’s warm enough to sleep without clothes. “Help!” I whimper, kicking my legs which hang over the bed.

“I’m not coming anywhere near you while you’re flailing around like a squid!” He lays his coat and pants on the back of the armchair tucked in the corner. When he’s in nothing but his underwear, he finally gets close to me. Instead of waiting for him to help, I reach my hand out and gently grab his package.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, I see…” he says, grabbing the waist of my pantyhose. “Play damsel in distress so you can have sex!” He gently tugs them over my bump before tossing them and my underwear to the side.

I feel him grow hard through the dark fabric. “You know me so well…” I hook my finger in the elastic waistband and start to tug down before he decides to actually help me. I look up and smile when he springs free. “I’ll only ask for help when it gets me laid,” I purr, reaching my hands over my head and stretching.

I watch as he spreads my legs wide, and grips himself before rubbing the head from my entrance to my clit to get himself nice and wet. He’s still nervous about hurting the baby, or scarring her for life. At first he’ll go slow until he remembers how good it feels, then he’ll start to move faster.

I don’t really want to know why I almost bite through my hand to keep myself from screaming when I have an orgasm, but I never want that feeling to go away. By the time he pulls out of me, I’m jell-o. I barely make it to the top of the bed and under the sheets before passing out.

Before leaving for home, my mother makes us promise to call the second I go into labor. She insists on being there when her first grandchild is born.

“Well, won’t you miss it?” I ask, giving her a tight hug.

“Oh please, I was in labor with you for fifteen hours. Prim was the nice one, only eight,” she confirms. My heart sinks. Holy fuck, what have I gotten myself into? She pats my stomach. “Now,” her attention switches to Peeta, “Spoil her. She’s carrying precious cargo.”

“Because I didn’t feel like an aircraft carrier to begin with,” I grumble.

* * *

_November 2006_

“Will you hold still? And don’t roll your eyes or I’ll smudge mascara all over your face,” Portia scolds, grabbing my cheeks.

“Mascara? I still want to look like myself…” I can count the number of days a year I actually wear make-up on one hand.

“Oh honey, you’ll still look like yourself! Trust me!” Unfortunately, I’m basically trapped in this chair. It’ll take me far too long to get out, and she’ll catch me and bring me back before I know it. My legs and backside fall asleep several times before I can finally get dressed. The second I told Portia I needed a formal dress, she made it her mission to help me find ‘just the right one’. What I ended up with was a long-sleeved, midnight blue dress with a very high slit.

I spend five minutes in Cinna and Portia’s apartment trying to get the damned thing to zip up before Cinna came from behind to bind me into my casing.

“How do I look?” I ask, spinning around in my silver heels. At least I think they’re silver. I needed help getting them on and can’t see them over my stomach.

Portia wraps her arm around Cinna’s waist. “Oh, it’s like we’re sending our little girl off to Prom! Except, she’s pregnant.”

Cinna sighs happily. “Oh, Prom babies, the American dream. You look amazing, Katniss.” I check my reflection in the mirror. They’ve left my hair down in loose curls and tried to keep my make-up as natural as possible, but couldn’t be talked out of the bright red lipstick. I’ll be the first to admit I look passable.

There’s a knock at the door. “Can I come in? The Abernathy’s are here,” Peeta asks through the door.

“Well, I don’t want to keep my boss waiting!” Peeta’s jaw nearly hits the floor when I open the door.

“Who are you and where did they put my wife?” I roll my eyes and fix his pins. “Ah, there she is!” He leans down to kiss me lightly. “Gorgeous, as always.”

“You’re not half bad yourself.”

Halfway through the night, I pull Haymitch away from his wife to dance. “You know… I wish you’d come to my wedding,” I tell him as he awkwardly rests his hands on my hips. “Oh my God, are we in eighth grade?”

“No, but if I get too close, I think your husband might deck me. Plus, there’s a little… obstacle.” We both look down between us. “And why did you want me there?”

I think back to watching Annie dance with her father at her wedding. “Nothing… It’s silly,” I laugh, looking at a random spot on the wall.

“Spill it, sweetheart.”

“I don’t exactly have a Dad, and I don’t know… you’ve helped me through some pretty rough patches in my life.”

He hugs me to him. “Your old man gave his life so I could be here today. It would be rude of me not to take care of his kid…”

“I have a sister, you know.”

He snorts. “Prim isn’t one to run into a firefight with nothing but a Glock and sweat shorts on.”

I roll my eyes. “It was six in the morning, and I was going to come in my underwear.”

* * *

Before I know it, I’m out of work and packing for our trip to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving. “Katniss, slow down! We aren’t leaving for two days.” If Peeta had his way, I’d be in bed twenty-four hours a day.

“Yeah, and we’re not ready to go. There’s washing to do, and you need to go get dog food. If I try to lift a forty pound bag, I get looked at funny.”

“Because you’re seven months pregnant.”

“Exactly!” I shout and start washing the dishes. “Women have been having kids for like a billion years, and until a few centuries ago, they worked until the day they went into labor. Actually, I’m sure in some parts of the world, they still do.”

He comes up from behind me, resting his hands on my stomach and kissing the back of the neck. “Yeah, but we live in America. So deal with it.”

When I was a child, Thanksgiving was just another excuse for the adults to drink and play horseshoes even though it was cold outside, while the other kids and I raised hell wherever we landed. Now as an adult, it's a weekend where I try not to piss off my mother-in-law.

“Is there anything I can help with?” I ask, feeling completely unneeded. The men are in the family room watching the football game. “I kind of feel like a fixture.”

“Well, you should be staying off your feet,” she tells me. “But here.” She sets a cutting board and a bread knife down in front of me before setting an ordinary bag of Stroehmann’s next to them. This catches me off guard.

“Mom, you own a bakery,” I say while cutting bread into small cubes.

“Hard crust is bad for stuffing,” she tells me. We go quiet for a little bit before she speaks up again. “Do you know what you’re naming her yet?”

“Mhm,” I start nibbling on the end piece. “But we’re not telling anyone just in case we change our minds,” I tell her. The real reason we don’t use the baby’s name is because it’ll make it too real. If something happens, I’m not sure I can handle it.

We watch as the boys file into the kitchen one-by-one and right out the back door. “And where do you four think you’re going?”

“It’s halftime,” is all my brother-in-law needs to say before they rush out.

“I don’t get it,” I confess.

Tiffany joins us, watching her husband from the window. “Football…”

“Now, did you go for something traditional?” I shake my head no and set the bowl on the counter. “We went for more popular names with Ryan and Andrew. Then their great-grandfather passed on and left the bakery to my husband. When I found out I was having my _third_ boy, we knew who we had to name Peeta after.” I steal a piece of raw onion off her cutting board. “You are going to get heartburn,” she cautions.

“Listen, I already have it. I eat Tums like crazy anymore.”

Not too long ago, I was probably the last person this woman wanted in her house, let alone her kitchen. Now I’m her favorite person in the world. “All I have to do now is wait for Ryan to propose to his girlfriend and for Tiffany to get pregnant, then my job as a mother is done,” she says idly.

“And I’m just waiting for mine to start…” I grumble.

“Oh please, a woman becomes a mother when she realizes she’s pregnant.  A man becomes a father when he first holds his child.”

“Unless you’re Katniss and Peeta Mellark and the roles are reversed. I still can’t believe that this,” I rub my stomach, “Is a kid, even when she’s kicking my insides all night…”

The back door swings open. “Katniss, you have a visitor,” Peeta tells me. I pull on my coat and follow him outside. “Be careful…”

At the edge of the property stands Waterfall, arms crossed over his chest, his hunting dog at his side. “You know, most people call before coming over,” I tell him as I approach.

“Most people visit their family when they come into town. Come on,” he says as I look over my shoulder. Peeta is watching me like a hawk, but I need to stretch my legs.

“Oh, fine. But remember, I’m kind of pregnant, so go easy on me.”

We walk to the narrow river at the edge of town that separates our side from the rest. It’s already freezing over in places, but for the most part is just a slushy brown mess. “Well?”

“We’re going to have to find a new patriarch for those hellions soon,” he tells me calmly, throwing a rock into the slush. Red sits obediently at his feet.

“Retiring?”

He snorts. “If only. Went to the doctors, Sae forced me into it. They ran some tests and it looks like my days are numbered.”

“What is it?”

“Cancer. They say it's spread,” he tells me this so calmly, like he’s already accepted his expiration date.

“Well, they have drugs, you know. Chemo, radiation… you can beat this…”

“Drugs are expensive, and chemo makes people miserable. I just want to die with some dignity.”

I snap. I’ve never been a fan of this man, but for him to just give up? It’s insane. “I hate to break the news to you… But there is _no_ dignity in dying. Especially when you give up!” I hiss.

“Katniss, I’m almost seventy. I’ve spent most of my life trying to keep the Everdeens and Hawthornes out of prison and the cemetery. I’m ready. I’ve fought through the droughts, the barren winters. I’ve seen four kids I basically raised go off to war and only two came back… Just give me this…”

I sigh. “How much time do you have left?”

“They told me six months in August.” I turn on my heels and walk away. “Woman, where do you think you’re going?”

“You know, you’re a fucking hypocrite! A call would have been nice!”

I don’t realize I’m crying until I’m stomping up the back stairs into the Mellark home. “Katniss?” Peeta asks as I rush inside and go straight into the guest room. I close the door quietly, but it swings open again not two seconds later. “Katniss, talk to me. What’s wrong?” I just shake my head. “What did he say to you? Am I going to have to kill him?”

Even though it’s extremely inappropriate and probably psychotic, I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, if cancer doesn’t beat you to the fucking punch!”

He freezes. “Oh… Kat, I’m so sorry…”

“He won’t even _try_ to get help. He just wants to ‘die with some dignity’. As if just rolling over on your back is dignified!”

Peeta pulls me to him and rubs his fingers in small circles against my back. “If that’s what he wants, babe, that’s what he wants. You can’t take that away from him…”

“It’s just so stupid! How can someone just do that? How can someone not try and fight?”

He sighs and the movements stop. “Some people aren’t built to fight on, even when they’ve been knocked to the ground…”

At dinner, I try to focus on the conversation and push my dying pseudo-grandfather out of my mind for a few minutes. I just can’t, so I don’t participate much. “I have a surprise for you tomorrow,” Peeta whispers in my ear.

“I hate surprises…”

He smiles and kisses my cheek. “You’ll like this one. Trust me.”

He wakes me up way too early the next day. “What should I wear?” I ask, yawning.

“Whatever you want. Come on, though, we’re running late!” He spanks me lightly.

“I’m sorry, someone climbed into the shower with me!” I pull on a pair of jeans and a dark sweater.

“I’ll have to kill him. No one showers with you but me!” We walk hand-in-hand into the center of town. “Here we are,” he says once we arrive at our destination.

I look up. “Peeta, really. A church?”

“Mhm!” He kisses my cheek. “I made a few calls. The man who married us is willing to renew our vows. Today.”

“Peeta, I’m under dressed and-“

“You’re perfect. Hell, you could be wearing old sweats and still look flawless. Listen, three years ago today, give or take a few hours because time zones are still confusing, I asked you to marry me. You thought I was joking at first, but here we are…”

“Are you going to tell me the same thing on New Year’s? Also, should you really talk about Hell in front of a church? Isn’t that bad luck?” He rolls his eyes and pulls me up the stairs. It’s the perfect setting – just Peeta, the priest and I, lit by the soft glow of candles. At the end of the service, we exchange the same rings as three years ago.

“Is Black Friday our anniversary now?” I ask as we step into the sunlight.

“Nah,” he says, wrapping his arm around my waist. “I just figured we’d celebrate twice.”

“Anniversary sex that good, huh?”

“Oh yeah! And tonight, I get wedding night sex!” He kisses the top of my head.

“Yes, just the thing to top our shotgun vow renewal.”

“Because I put a baby in you and if we didn’t do it, we would continue living in sin?” he asks.

“I think that’s it. We’d have to ask your Mom though.”


	41. And Baby Makes Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a BIG BIG BIG DAY!
> 
> Thank you Chelzie for getting this back to me before you go on your epicsauce tailgate adventure!
> 
> I know I just updated and it was super long, so here’s something super short!

_January 15, 2007_

_Peeta_

“She won’t sit still,” I say as my mother laughs on the other end. “Seriously, our freezer is full of food. Katniss doesn’t even cook. There are more cookies in this house than when I was a kid, and I’m pretty sure she scrubbed the finish off the hardwood!”

“It’s called nesting, and it’s perfectly natural. She’ll probably go into labor soon,” Mom explains. The door swings open as my very pregnant wife drags two empty hampers into the apartment. “Call us when she goes into labor, your father and I will leave then.”

Katniss kisses my cheek and heads into the baby’s room. I say goodbye to my mother and start playing the waiting game. At six days past her due date, Katniss has more energy than anything else. Unfortunately, our daughter’s constant shifting put Katniss right out of the mood, so sex has been completely off the table. “Hey babe?” she asks from the nursery. “Can you go downstairs and get the sheets out of the dryer? I forgot how much I didn’t fold in here.”

Watching her do all of this is making me tired. “Sure. You should really sit down, though,” I call back, heading into the basement laundry room.

I barely reach the dryer when I hear her. “Peeta!” she screams, sounding terrified. I run up the stairs, taking them two at a time until the pins in my thigh tell me ‘no’.

“Katniss!” Nothing. “Katniss?” I find her sitting down, folding onesies on her stomach.

“False alarm,” she tells me as I slap my forehead. “What? I’ve never had a baby before. Did you get the sheets?”

“No…” I crouch down next to her and pull up her sweater and undershirt. “Someone started screaming and I came running.” I kiss her stomach. I shouldn’t be as shocked as I am, though. She’s been doing this all week. “When I come back, you'd better still be sitting right here.”

Katniss groans. “I can’t! There’s so much left to do. I have to finish folding the clothes, the bathroom needs to be cleaned and-“

I put a stop to her talking and press my lips to hers. “If I come up here and you’re not in this rocker, I’m going to haul you to the hospital and have them strap you down on a bed until you go into labor.”

“And our uniforms need to be pressed. I never got your blues ironed after November. What if you need them?”

“Katniss, why would I need my dress blues?”

“Her christening or baptism. You know, whichever one where they pour the water on the baby. Besides, your blues are a rank behind.”

“You’re so confusing…” I say, rolling my eyes even though I know she’s right. I had been promoted to Staff Sergeant just after the Ball.  I go to get the sheets and when I get back, she’s wrestling with the ironing board. “Katniss!” She gets the thing standing and then heads into the closet. “Babe, if you don’t slow down, you’re going to have that thing in the bathtub!”

“I told you I wanted a home birth!” I hear her slide the hangers while I put the sheets on the bed. “You just wouldn’t listen to me. I’ve had enough of hospitals for one lifetime.”

“Katniss,” I caution. I refuse to have this discussion again. After each and every different way I almost lost her, so I’m not willing to risk anything.

“Come on,” she pleads.”The two of us can both sit in the tub, then when it’s over, it’ll be the three of us!” I can’t tell whether she’s joking or not.

“It’s the twenty-first century! People have babies in hospitals.”

“I was born at home, and so was Prim. Could you get the sewing kit out of my bedside table?” This is the closest thing to Katniss being the military wife I’m ever going to see, and I’ll be glad when it’s over. “There!” she stands up and puts my coat on over her clothes. She’s gotten so big that it won’t even close.

“When was the last time you saw your feet?”

“When Portia dragged me to prenatal yoga.” She rubs the underside of her stomach.

Around eight, she finally settles down. “Want to get a bath?” she asks, wearing only a sweatshirt.

“Are you going to have a baby while we’re in there?”

She just sticks out her tongue and I go back to reading, “I’ll run the-“ She stops and I hear her step back. “Peeta…” I look up, her face in-between confused and terrified. “I think I just wet myself… No, wait, my water broke!” She takes a deep breath and rubs her stomach just as Phoenix comes to investigate. “Ew!” she squeals. “No! Baby, go away! Go lay down!” She hurries into the kitchen, more concerned by the mess than the fact that her water has broken.

“Peeta, go get my bag,” she tells me while cleaning up the mess. “I’ll go tell next door to let the dog out and feed the animals.”

I really feel like one of us should be panicking, though high stress is just something we’re used to. When I get out of the bedroom with the overnight bag in tow, she’s in the kitchen making herself something to eat. “Katniss, aren’t you forgetting something?”

She shoves a peanut butter sandwich in her mouth. “I’m hungry!” she tells me as she chews.

I hand her a pair of sweatpants and her shoes. “Put these on, you can eat that on the way. Did you give the key to Cinna or Portia?”

She shakes her head. “I was hungry,” she says, handing me her sandwich so she can dress herself. “Does the dog need to go out?” she asks, taking her food away again.

“No, Katniss. You, downstairs now. In case you didn’t realize, you’re having a baby.” I’m not sure anyone’s ever gone into labor so oblivious. She rolls her eyes at me and calmly waddles across the hall and knocks.

Portia opens the door a few seconds later. “Katniss?”

“Hi, my water broke and-” She grabs the molding of the door and hunches over. I rush to her as Portia just stands there, dumbfounded.

I take the keys from her hand and give them to Portia. “I’m going to get her to the hospital. Just make sure the dog stays out of the catbox and that they both eat. I’ll call.” Katniss’ contraction still isn’t over, so I pick her up and carry her down the stairs. She wraps her arms around my neck. It all starts with one pain filled whimper. “Shhh… It’s okay… It’ll all be over soon…”

“No, it won’t be!” she whines.

I wait until we get to the hospital and they actually admit Katniss before calling our parents. “Your mother, Prim, my mother, and my father are all on their way here.”

She sits up. “You didn’t have to do that,” she mumbles, scratching at her IV. After two contractions all she wants is the epidural, but she still has some time before they can give it to her. “Now your grumpy mother and my grumpy mother will be in the same room, with hopefully a high as a kite me.”

I roll my eyes and sit next to her on the bed. “This is really happening…” I whisper.

Katniss nuzzles into me. “I just want her out of me…”

I snort. “You say that now… But during the last two contractions, you just wanted it to stop because you could keep her safer inside you.”

“I’m tired…” she whispers.

I kiss her temple. “Then try and get some sleep…” I don’t know how, but I manage to pass out about a half hour after she starts snoring.

“No, he’s been sleeping this whole time. I can’t wait to tell her that Daddy slept through her birth…” Katniss says, “Or that he kicked me out of my own bed.”

“Twenty five years, and he still sleeps the same way…” I jump up when I hear my mother’s voice.

“When’d you get here?” I ask, yawning.

“About fifteen minutes ago. Here I thought we were getting a grandchild, not watching you take a nap while your wife sits in a hospital chair.”

“I’m fine, really. I went for a walk and everything…” Somehow, the three of us persuade her to get back in the bed and my father and I take a walk.

“Nervous?” he asks.

I just nod. “Terrified. Are you sure you can take this time off?” I ask.

“That’s the joy of being your own boss and having two idiot sons. They wish they could be here.” I half want to tell him that we’ll be up in Pennsylvania soon. Within the month, Katniss will have to head up north to attend a funeral.

“We’ll bring her up next time we have off…” Dad and I find our way to the glass wall separating us from the other newborns. In a few hours there will be another, Katniss’ and my daughter. “This still doesn’t seem real. I mean, her water broke and she went to make herself something to eat. I thought it was supposed to be panicky and fast…”

My father laughs and pats me on the back. “It gets quicker each time. You were born in the parking lot,” he says, misty-eyed. “It was snowing, but the morning after you were born, it was like spring came. Your Mom wondered for months why you couldn’t have waited just one more day.”

We make our way back to the room where a nurse flicks at Katniss’s IV. “Apparently, I’m too comfortable,” she yawns.

“We’re just trying to speed things up. You’ve been at every six minutes for the last four hours.”

If their goal is to make her uncomfortable, they’re successful. An hour later, she’s breaking my hand. “I can’t do this… Peeta, I can’t do this…” she sobs.

She sits up after the contraction runs its course. “Just a little bit longer and your mom and Prim will be here…” I stroke her sweaty forehead. “You can do this…”

The nurse comes in shortly after to check how far along she is. “Not much longer!” the woman chirps. “I’ll be back in a half hour, call me if you feel the need to push…”

Katniss’ eyes go wide, “How will I know?” she asks.

“Trust me, you’ll know.”

I kiss the crown of her head. “Babe, if you want to get the epidural, you need to hurry and decide before it’s too late…” She shakes her head no. Before she was all for the drugs, but now she doesn’t want them. “God, you are so confusing…” I grumble.

“Rub my back?” she asks timidly. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her sound so pathetic. I kick off my shoes and climb into the bed with her, rubbing her lower back as I’ve done almost every night for the last six months.

The door slowly opens. “Knock, knock! Look who we found!” Prim and Katniss’ mother follow my parents in the room.

“Hey,” Katniss greets tiredly as my thumbs still work her lower back. “You’re just in time…” she says, leaning back into me.

“Are you ready to push?” her mother asks.

“Can I look?” Prim asks. “I’m thinking of specializing in obstetrics!”

Katniss squeezes her legs closed. “If you so much as lift this blanket, I will knock your teeth out the night before your wedding!”

Prim’s face goes very serious. “You wouldn’t dare!” I feel Katniss tense up against me. She doesn’t scream. In fact, the only noise she makes to let us know she’s in pain is the occasional whimper. Even now, moments from giving birth, she refuses to show any sign of weakness or that she’s about to push something the size of a watermelon out of her.

Lillian strokes her daughter’s hair. “When’d you grow up?” she asks quietly.

“Nineteen ninety one…” she whispers. “The more important thing is who in their right mind is giving me a kid?”

“No one is giving you a kid, you made one,” Prim tells her. “And you should let me look!”

“Prim, in the last twelve hours I’ve had a dog try to lick whatever spilled out of me when my water broke off the floor, and like three strangers look down there. If you ask again, so help me God…”

“Ew… wait, Phoenix did what?”

I start rubbing her shoulders. “Then after she chased her away, instead of getting ready to go to the hospital, someone decided to make herself a snack…”

The only other man in the room, my father, finds this about as confusing as I do. “You didn’t have anything else on your mind? Nothing that was a little more important than feeding yourself?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to have her in the apartment. I figured I needed to keep my energy up. My first choice was going to be a meal bar… but I ate them all…” she says with a tinge of guilt in her voice.

The next time the nurse comes in, she tells Katniss it’s almost time to push. My mother, father, Katniss’ mother and Prim take this as their cue to leave. We want them here, but it’s important to Katniss that we get through this by ourselves. I’m still holding Katniss against my chest. Every time I go to leave, she holds me still.

“I  _need_  you,” she whispers hoarsely. I just kiss her sweaty head. Finally, Dr. Ferrier comes in for about the third time since we’ve gotten here.

“Alright Dad,” she starts. “I need you to grab her legs under the knees. Keep her from closing them.” It’s an awkward position at first, but this whole situation is two words away from being absolutely horrifying. The exact phrase was, “Reach your hand down you can feel the baby’s head.” Katniss hasn’t been exactly comfortable with the changes in her body. That combined with the fact that a near stranger has her face very close to an orifice that was a snug fit for me up until a few hours ago isn’t exactly her ideal situation. Cautiously, she reaches a hand down and inhales sharply.

“She… Oh God… Oh God…” she starts hyperventilating. “Oh God, this is real! Peeta!”

I squeeze her tightly. “Shhh… It’s okay, I’m right here. And it’s a little late to be having this realization…”

“I hate you!” she cries. “I hate you so much! You did this to me!” It’s inappropriate, but I laugh anyways.

“No, love, we did this together. Although… you instigated the conception.” She’s almost too shocked to say anything, but she squirms and her elbow hits my ribs.

Our moment is interrupted by Dr. Ferrier. “Alright, on the next contraction, you’re going to push. We’re going to count to ten, then take a breather, then do it again.”

She nods and rests the back of her head on my shoulder. “Ready?” she asks weakly.

“You’re doing all the work, babe…” She laughs and we have a few more seconds of calm before the next contraction hits her.

The four of us count to ten three times. “Alright, there’s the head…”

“You’re doing great,” I tell her. “Just a little more and it’s all over…”

She just nods and goes quiet for a few seconds. “I love you…” she starts as the nurse wipes sweat from her face, “But if you ever,  _ever_  get me pregnant again…” Her threat is cut off by another contraction.

“Eight… nine…” Dr. Ferrier says, shifting her arms. “I was right, it’s a girl!” she tells us as a loud wail fills the room. “January 16th, 2007, 9:46 a.m.” Katniss’ entire body relaxes and our screaming daughter is given to her. Bright pink and covered in some kind of white mess, she doesn’t even try and stop fussing even after a blanket is draped over her. This all started with one tiny whimper, and ended with one life changing scream.

“Hello, Riley Christine…” Katniss says, peeking at her face.

The nurse hands me a pair of scissors and I cut my daughter free from my wife. We watch as they take her to get weighed. “I’m so proud of you…” I kiss her cheek and help her sit up so I can finally get out of this awkward position.

Katniss lays there and just stares for a few minutes. “Seven pounds, eleven ounces,” the nurse announces as she brings Riley back to us. “Congratulations!”

“Here,” Katniss says, handing our daughter to me. “I held her when she was slimy. It’s only fair you get her now that they’ve cleaned her up!” It’s an awkward feeling. She’s heavy, but still so fragile. I can see a few strands of black hair poking out from under the little pink cap.

“She has your chin…” I tell Katniss.

“And hopefully your temperament…” I just smile. I can’t look away from my baby girl, especially after she opens her blue eyes. When we were kids, I fell for Katniss almost instantly but it was a childhood crush. It’s nothing like the instant all-consuming love I feel as Riley just stares at me. Not crying, not moving, just staring.

“Who cares who she acts like?” I ask, “She’s perfect…”

I hand our tightly swaddled daughter back to Katniss when she begins fussing. A nurse comes in to help Katniss feed Riley. It takes a few minutes, but soon she awkwardly covers herself with the blanket. She cringes every minute or so.

“You should go get our parents and my sister…” she yawns. “Let them know everything went okay…” While Katniss is occupied by nursing, Dr. Ferrier seats herself in front of Katniss’ open legs.

“Alright, here’s the last of it…” Katniss winces again and I watch the doctor hand a bloody mess off to the nurse. “There’s a little tearing… I’m going to numb the area and stitch it up. It won’t take more than two minutes…”

“How are you so calm?” I ask, stroking her hair. Katniss just smiles back at me lovingly.

“Can you feel that?” the doctor asks.

“Feel what?” I wait for Katniss to be back under the blanket with her gown closed before getting our families. It’s a blur of passing Riley around and our loved ones telling us whose eyes or hands she has. Everyone seems to find something of them in every part of her.

I take this time to steal a few moments with my exhausted wife. “I have another new place for stitches. And here I thought inside my lip was weird…” she jokes.

I sit next to her and intertwine my fingers with hers. “How do you feel?” I ask as I start stroking the back of her hand with my thumb.

“Tired? Lighter?” It seems like the second Katniss mentions her own fatigue, Riley gets fussy. I watch the confusion in Katniss’ eyes. “But… I just fed her…”

“Did you burp her?” my mother asks, pressing the baby to her chest. Our daughter’s tiny head is over her shoulder as she pats her back lightly. Riley lets out a tiny burp and immediately stops fussing.

Katniss’ brow furrows. “How did you know how to do that?”

My mother just smiles. “Three boys, and that one right there had colic!” I have no idea what that is, but it can’t be too bad. 


	42. All This and Heaven Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me, just updating two fics in the same hour. I think my beta's are in cahoots. I tried to make this chapter fluffy. I literally tried to kill Chelzie with fluff... She's still alive so I wasn't successful. :D
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from a Frank Sinatra song that's near and dear to my heart.

_January 2007_

“Don’t mind me…” I yawn, crawling up my husband’s legs and ducking under his arms. I don’t even try to check which book he’s reading. I’m too tired, far too tired. My mother and Prim left three days ago, Peeta’s parents at four. We are officially on our own with Riley.

I lay down on him, my head right above his heart. “Well, hello there…” I think he keeps talking to me but I fall asleep, lulled to sleep by the slow beating of his heart.

I’m definitely the lighter sleeper. So an hour after I fall asleep on Peeta and we’re both passed out, Riley finds the need to start screaming. “I’ll get her…” he yawns. “That’s her hungry cry…”

Apparently, she has different cries. It all sounds like sad baby to me. “No… I’ve got it…”

I go to stand, but stumble. “Katniss… I’m going back to work tomorrow. You need to sleep. I have her…” It will be my first day alone with Riley. Well, not _totally_ alone. Maysilee promised that she could help if I needed anything, and Portia won’t be at the salon tomorrow.

I trudge into the bedroom and pass out on top of the sheets. As a fetus, Riley was mostly active at night, so nothing has really changed.

She wakes us up just after midnight, two AM, and four AM. “Peeta, I’ve got her… please…” He doesn’t need to be on base until 900, so he can still get plenty of sleep.

“Are you sure?” he mumbles. I just smile and nod, kissing his sleepy head.

“Positive… just sleep…” My body is stiff, wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed. Being a mother is a lot like a ‘come as you are’ attack in Karmah. It doesn’t matter if my body wants sleep because there’s work to be done.

“Come here, little miss…” The source of this fuss is a very wet diaper. The second I snap her onesie closed, the fussing is done but she looks wide awake.

She barely feeds and when I burp her, she gets sick all down my back. “What am I going to do with you?” It’s what I get for not using one of the thousands of blankets we got just for this purpose. I start rocking her slowly, and she seems to like the movement. I hum a tune that I’m too tired to place and wait for her to fall asleep.

I don’t bother putting on another shirt, throwing the dirty one into the hamper. “You’re on my side…” I grumble. Peeta just pats his spot on the bed.

“Warm…” he grumbles and I smile. We can’t have sex, so cuddling is only the few minutes we have after laying down before passing out. Tiny romantic gestures like this make me weak in the knees. Peeta pulls me to him. “You’re amazing…”

Riley magically sleeps again until seven when Peeta wakes her up by peeking in her room. I don’t believe in God, but I do worship the ground that the person who invented the breast pump walks on. While Peeta feeds Riley from our stockpiled breast milk supply, I pull myself out of bed and trudge into the shower. I haven’t pumped since last night and the baby barely fed, so I feel like an engorged cow.

“You’d better go down some day…” I tell my chest. “I’m getting too old to readapt to prone firing.”

“I’m going to pretend I never heard that…” I jump as Peeta wraps his arms around me. “Miss Riley has been fed, burped, changed and sniffed by the dog until she put on that ‘Oh God, what the fuck are you-oh wait, you’re warm’ look.”

Peeta moves his hands down to my still swollen stomach. I’m about as big as I was at six months. No one told me about this little chestnut, or about mustard colored diapers. In fact, there’s a lot I haven’t been told about being a mother. The most confusing is how the baby crying makes my breasts leak. It’s one of the many reasons I’m not sure I’ll be ready to bring Riley out in public for a good, long while.

Peeta tends to forget that I can’t have sex, so his lips find my neck as his hands squeeze my breasts. I know exactly how to stop this. “You’re wasting your daughter’s food. Now can you stop fondling me for two seconds and maybe wash my hair?” I ask, leaning into him.

“I’m sorry…” he sighs before kissing my neck again. “You’re just… so… amazing.” Another kiss. “And gorgeous…” Another. “And sexy…”

I roll my eyes, as none of these are true. “And you want sex, but you forget that I just pushed a tiny human out of me and she tore me down there.”

Peeta sighs, “I’ll play nice.”

We wash each other, yet another innocent but touching gesture. Between the sleep deprivation and tiny human almost perpetually attached to my breasts, keeping the spark alive would normally be hard. But since Peeta and I survived the year from hell, we can definitely survive Miss Riley Christine.

I peek my head in her room while Peeta makes breakfast. She just stares at her mobile, swaddled in the blanket Grandma Mellark knit for her. “Come here…” I coo, cradling her in my arms. She’s so tiny but feels so heavy at the same time. It amazes me. “You’re better at making a Riley burrito than I am…” I tell my husband as I enter the kitchen.

I set her down on the dinner table and unwrap the blanket. “Katniss, what did we talk about?” I look up and mirror his stupid grin. “No babies on the dinner table.”

“But I have to figure out how to make a burrito out of her!” Riley looks more confused than anything. We have the light over the table off so as not to hurt her eyes. I take a bite of my toast.

“You know how to fold a flag?” he asks. I just give him the look in return. “Well, it’s nothing like that…”

I roll my eyes and try folding her back up to keep her warm, but Phoenix decides she needs to let us know she has to pee _right now._ She barks and Riley’s eyes go wide as she flails a little. My baby’s face scrunches up and she starts wailing. I immediately pull her to my chest. “I've got her…” I tell Peeta as I rock lightly and begin humming.

“I’ll let the brat out…” he grumbles.

I’m more nervous about being alone with the baby than I care to admit. When I’m alone with her, there is no one to help me out if things go bad. Luckily, Riley doesn’t seem to be too fussy unless she is hungry or tired.

Riley and I sit together and watch the morning news. It’s more like I watch it and she gets confused as the cat’s tail occasionally flicks her head. I don’t understand what’s so hard about this. Maybe I’m just an expert on not getting enough sleep and getting yelled at constantly.

Unbeknownst to her, Riley and I develop a system while I’m at home with her. She naps most of the time, so I make use of the time by trying to work out. We have access to a twenty-four hour gym, but they won’t take infants this young into their daycare. And technically, I’m not supposed to start exercising for about four more weeks.

While Riley naps her breakfast away, I'm able to see exactly where I am physically. For whatever reason, we have a doorframe pull-up bar. This device was ridiculous two years ago when it was given to us as a joke. But now that I’m trapped in the house with nothing to do but clean and care for my child (which, in a tiny apartment, is not an all day job) it’s now one of the most practical move-in gifts we received.

I can’t remember my exact scores for my last physical fitness exam, but I do know that I scored advanced across the board. Now I’m barely passing.

After barely being able to hold myself up for fifteen seconds, I abandon my efforts. After twenty minutes, I confirm that sitting on the couch for six months is the easiest way to ensure I barely pass. I was in the best shape of my life going into my pregnancy. Ten months later, I’m at my worst. Well, that’s a toss-up between starving and barely being able to do a sit-up.

For a fraction of a second, I blame Riley until she starts crying and my heart aches. This girl has definitely changed me, both physically and mentally.

* * *

_February 2007_

My happy, peaceful baby goes away around the three-week mark. Like clockwork, she starts crying at three and goes until about four, and then she's absolutely irritable at nine. She cries at the slightest noise, whenever we set her down, or if something moves too fast.

I have barely been able to get back on track. Everything in the world seems to set my sleep deprived brain into a downward spiral of tears and pleas for Riley to stop crying. Tonight is a particularly horrible night. Instead of the break between four and nine, she just keeps on going. “Riley, please, you’re going to make the neighbors hate us…” I whine as though she can understand. I’ve been making slow laps around the apartment, patting her back but she refuses to stop.

Peeta comes home to his daughter in hysterics and me on the verge of tears. “Katniss, go for a walk…”

“But she’s crying… I broke her…” He takes off his coat and throws it on the couch before taking Riley from me. The second my arms are empty, the floodgates break.

“Katniss…”

“She’s been crying non-stop since three. I’ve fed her, burped her, changed her, sang to her, rocked her…” I look down at the ground, ashamed. “I can’t take care of my own baby…”

Peeta takes a step closer to me and pulls me to him with his free arm. “Baby…” he says as Riley continues to fuss. “It’s just colic… Take a walk…” He kisses the top of my head.

I zip up his coat around me and grab my keys. “I love you…” I wipe my eyes on the sleeve of his coat.

“And I love you…” It’s the little things, like taking the perpetually fussy baby from me the second before I break, that will keep us together. His perpetually optimistic attitude doesn’t hurt either.

The cold February air hits me and my own tears are gone. I walk slowly around the dark block, slipping on little patches of ice here and there. On the last leg of my walk I rush back, too nervous to be away from Riley for this long. She needs me. Her life depends on my coherence while Peeta is at work.

Her fussiness turns into irritability, which is easier to deal with. I don’t mind holding her and neither does Peeta, and that’s what keeps her quiet. We even manage to cook a meal for ourselves. “I want to go back on my medication…” I tell him quietly as Riley nurses, hidden from view by a blanket.

Peeta puts his fork down. “Are you sure?”

The doctors told me I can still nurse while on my medication, that there's no significant cause for worry that the medication could harm her. “I know I won’t be nursing then… and I’ll miss bonding like this… But if you’re gone and I… _have an issue_ , I’ll never forgive myself. I need to take precautions…”

He takes my free hand and we lace our fingers together. “Have I ever told you how amazing you are?”

“Nope,” I tell him, smiling.

Somehow, I manage to get an evening appointment with my psychiatrist. I tell him about how I cry at the drop of a hat and about Riley’s colic. He almost immediately dismisses post-partum depression.  But with my previous diagnosis and my history of perfectly sane reactions to little stressors like fireworks, backfiring engines, and cumulative daily stress, I’m back on the little magic pills.

“I still don’t feel anything…” I tell Peeta about a week later. “But that’s probably because I didn’t give myself the tranquilizer like the first time around…”

Peeta sighs and pulls me close. Riley had a good day today. She’s only on formula now, which seems to be helping. “I told you I was sorry…” he grumbles. “But you did sleep really well that night…”

We lay in our dark room, enjoying the quiet. The dog shifts so her head is resting on my hip. She’s the littlest spoon. “It’s Valentine’s Day…” Peeta whispers in my ear. My heart sinks. _I've completely forgotten!_

“I’m so sorry, I-“

He squeezes me. “It’s like Riley somehow knows we need a nice romantic night together…”

I yawn. “Yeah, for like another hour before she wakes up to be fed… Plus, I can’t have sex yet…” Besides, still having stitches down there is making me bleed like I’m on my period. Apparently, I forgot to tell Peeta this was happening because he took out a garbage can full of pads and just gave me a dumbfounded look.

“I don’t want sex,” he says. I roll over to face him, skeptical at first. But when I see his face, I almost break apart again. “I just want this…” I bury my face in his chest and hold onto him tightly. “Now, for our anniversary, on the other hand…”

“Which one?” I ask, my face still pressed to him. He brings me home dark red roses from work and I surprise him with the brownies his mother walked me through making. Riley gives us another break tonight and I think that maybe our colic hell is over. But the next day we’re back to normal; the crying, the not wanting to be put down.  When Peeta comes home from work, I have Riley laying on my knees while I rub her back with two fingers. She cries through the massage but lets out the loudest burp I’ve ever heard and just like that, the crying fit is gone.

“It’s like defusing a bomb…” I grumble.

Peeta kisses my cheek and takes our daughter from me, giving my nerves a break. “You’ve never defused a bomb…”

“And I’m sure someone who has defused one hasn’t had to deal with weeks of colicky baby…” Riley seems perfectly fine now, happy even. I’m no longer jittery when caring for her. I rarely panic and Peeta has yet to come home and find me in tears. It’s probably the only thing that’s justified me going back on my medication. Riley doesn’t like the bottle most times and because I’m not nursing, my breasts are heavy and sore. But I can handle her tantrums and that’s all we can ask for.

Unfortunately, a jealous dog is not something I asked for. Phoenix has three ways of getting attention; jumping, swatting, and head butting. Before, I would feed Riley in front of the TV. Now, I either have to lock up the dog or lock myself away because she paws at me. One time she even hit the baby. A few nights ago, Peeta was laying on the floor with her and the dog kept dropping her toys around them as though she wanted the baby to play with her. Not long after, she laid on the ground with her paws right at the baby’s head while chewing on her toy. I know she would never intentionally hurt Riley, but it still makes me uneasy.

I slip the dog’s collar on and Peeta looks up at me. “What are you doing?” he asks, taking note of my sweats and Under Armour. Somehow, albeit very slowly, the baby weight is coming off.

“I’m taking the dog for a run. Come on, you little brat!” Now in the twenty-five degree chill, I have to wonder how I survived one hundred ten degrees. I run the dog until she and I can barely stand, but she still goes back to lying near the baby and chewing on her toys.

“I think she’s protecting her…” Peeta sighs as the dog starts sniffing the baby’s head. I move to stop her or pull Riley to me, but Peeta holds his arm out to stop me. Just then, the dog licks the back of her head, turning all of her hair into one giant cowlick.

The baby’s face goes from neutral to ‘you just turned my world upside-down’, though she doesn’t cry. I sit on the other side of Riley. She hasn’t discovered her hands or feet yet, or at least acknowledged that they’re hers, but she swings and kicks.

I take her hand between my thumb and index finger. She curls her chubby baby fingers around mine before pulling away.

The next day when I come home from my walk with the dog, Peeta is setting up everything to give Riley her first real bath.

“She’s going to hate you,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his waist and kissing the space between his shoulder blades. We’re nearing the six week mark. I go to the doctor next Wednesday to hopefully get the all clear to start having sex again. Instead of being a mature adult and helping get her bath ready, I reach my hands down below the elastic waistband of Peeta’s lounge pants.

“Katniss…” he cautions as I leave my hands to rest on his package.

“What?” I ask innocently. “I miss you… and we need to start practicing for the next one. We've gotta get it right two times in a row.”

“Well, if we got a girl when you were on top, we’ll have to go to boring missionary if we want a boy…”

“I’m sorry, but as I recall, our first time was in the missionary position.”

He laughs. “And as I recall, I made you talk on the phone halfway through!” I withdraw my hands, remembering that day. “Me, too… Ass…”

“Instead of insulting me, why don’t you get the baby?”

She doesn’t like the bath at first, not one bit. She fusses a little at the new sensation, but we try our best to keep her warm. Instead of being productive, I spend the time turning her wispy black hair into a Mohawk. “Not in my house!” Peeta jokes.

“What if she comes home with a boy who has a Mohawk?”

“I’ll pull out her mother’s Beretta,” he teases, kissing my cheek. “You can take the Glock.”

“Thanks!” I start, using a cup to rinse her hair. “Because you can hit anything with my rifle…”

“Well, yeah… The target, like the edge…”

I just roll my eyes.

I extend my maternity leave by four weeks. Riley’s bad days still outnumber the good and I feel terrible leaving her with someone during her hellish hours. Maysilee has offered to take her during the day, but driving to Virginia before going back to 8th and I in the morning sounds like hell.

My days are simple and mind-numbing. Wake-up, shower, have breakfast while one of us feeds Riley, try and keep her awake for an hour or so, put her down for her nap, then feed again and repeat until three o’clock hits and the fussing begins. It’s draining sometimes, the crying, but we endure.

One day, Peeta comes home as white as a ghost. “Baby?” I ask, standing up from the couch. “What’s wrong?”

I think of everything that can go wrong in the winter upstate, until I see the letter in his hand. Letters in the military bring nothing good. He sits down on the couch beside me and takes Riley from my arms. I take the letter from his hand and skim it quickly.

For a while, I can’t react. I just read the letter over and over. “Well…” I whisper, “You extended your contract for more experience for the FBI…” I pause, trying to hold it together. “I-It’s only six months…” and at the thought, I lose it. Riley is about two months old now. Peeta will be leaving on the second of April and won’t be back until October. How can he miss that much of her life?

He pulls me to him and I drape my legs over his. “We can do this…” he whispers. “And I’m going over as a noner.” Noner means non-essential or non-combat roles. It’s as safe as you can get in a war zone. Well, you could also be an officer, but I know even that has its risks.

“I’ll take lots of pictures?” I offer, trying to smile through the tears. Peeta just remains quiet, his eyes never leaving the baby. Our sweet, innocent daughter, who has no idea that her father will be leaving her in a little over a month.

Finally, Peeta kisses the top of my head. “We can do this…” he whispers again. 


	43. What Hurts the Most

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last chapter for two weeks seeing as I’m going away with Chelzie next weekend and I don’t see myself getting too much writing done until after we tear up DC. 
> 
> Speaking of Chelzie, ILU <3
> 
> You should check out the prequel I wrote for this lovely tale. It focuses on September 11th. I decided that I would take a small break between Part 3 and the newly added Part 4 to post the rest of the prequel which will be a part before 9/11 focusing on what led to Katniss joining the Marines and what happens between the start of the war in Afghanistan and Katniss landing in Fallujah.
> 
> But you won’t see that for a while. I still have Part 3 to finish.

_March 2007_

“Come on, you can do it!” Riley understands what I’m saying about as much as the cat does when I yell at him for batting at her head. Amal never hits her with claws, but it still terrifies me. Riley doesn’t seem to mind it though; in fact, she always laughs.

The slam of the outside door echoes through the stairwell and Phoenix gets up, barking like a madwoman waiting for her master to get home. Finally, Riley pushes her head and shoulders up off the ground, the noise piquing her interest. Peeta opens the door and the dog jumps up on him. “Hey girl…” I hear her paws hit the hardwood, nails clicking as she tries to weave around his legs. She knows something’s up. “There’s my girls!”

He kneels down beside me, kissing me lightly. “Look…” Instead of actually trying to push herself up, Riley is once again content with lying on the ground. “Well, she kind of did a pushup. Like a cheater push up, but she tried.”

Peeta walks around so his feet are in her line of sight. To get a better view, she pushes herself up for half a second before her chubby arms get tired and she lowers herself back down. “That’s two,” I say, scooping her up. “The first of many…”

Riley gives us a break tonight, going to sleep easily, which is a godsend. Two days ago, I was given the all clear to start having sex again.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Peeta asks. I miss him, his kisses, the feel of his body pressed against mine, and how he goes out of his way to make sure I come.

We’re only in our underwear, a half-way point between sex and going to bed. At this point, it could honestly go either way.

I kneel before him, running my hands up and down his extended legs. My fingers trace along the flat, pink flesh of his scar as he reaches for my breasts. As I lean in to kiss him, the phone rings. Instead of jumping up to get it, I rest my head in the crook of his neck. “I guess I’ll get that…”

I push off him and roll to the phone while he goes to rub my backside. “Hello?”

The person on the other end takes a deep breath. “K-Katniss, you have to come home,” Sae’s voice is hoarse and broken.

I scramble so I’m sitting on my knees. “When did it happen?”

“About five minutes ago…” This is it, Waterfall is now gone from the world. “It was real peaceful. He’s with the Lord now. Gale, Johanna, your mom and Prim are heading up…”

“We’ll be there…”

“And the baby?”

“I think we’re just going to drop her off at the kennel with a bag of kibble…” Sae doesn’t say anything. “Of course we’re bringing her… I love you…”

“Love you, too. Drive safe.”

I put the phone back in the cradle and let the news sink in. “My… my grandfather just died…” I was never close with my mother’s parents and Grandpa Everdeen passed on when I was five. Waterfall wasn’t my grandfather by blood, but he helped raise me. Even if his hand came down hard whenever I did something wrong, which was quite often growing up, he still had a hard job.

Peeta pulls me to him so I’m sitting in his lap. He kisses the top of my head and strokes my hair. “You have to call Haymitch. Get him to try and get you some kind of leave…”

I kiss his cheek, his stubble scratching me a little before flopping face down in my pillow. I'm done for the night. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Peeta asks after making a few calls.

“Y-yeah…” Death is something I live with, something I ignore no matter how callous it sounds. My colleagues die, I kill, people try and kill me. It’s all part of the job. This is different, though. It’s someone I know, someone I authentically care about outside of work. Could you care about the dead or just remember them fondly? I’m pretty sure you can hate someone just as fiercely in death as in life.

My entire body shakes. “Katniss!” Peeta exclaims, pulling me from my thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what?” My pillow is damp with tears.

“You’ve been staring for the last half hour… Do you want a…”

“No. I’m fine,” I say shortly before rolling over to rest my head on his chest. “I just need this…”

* * *

Riley jabbers contently for the first ten minutes of our journey. “We have to go completely out of our way…” I grumble. “I don’t understand why they couldn’t just fly into Harrisburg or Scranton…”

Gale and Johanna were willing to make the nine hour drive. My mother and Prim, on the other hand, are flying into Philadelphia International. I’m just in a mood today, an absolutely horrible mood. Peeta mistook it for grief, but the only thing I’m feeling is guilt. The last thing I said to this man was, ‘You’re a fucking hypocrite.’

“I’m sorry I have to drag you away from home your last few weeks here.” I lean back and peek at the baby, now sound asleep.

He waits a second, choosing his words carefully. “Well, you came to my brother’s wedding…”

He clenches and unclenches his jaw, thinking he made a mistake. I rest my hand on his cheek. “I was afraid if I didn’t go, someone would swoop in, sensing we were separated…”

“We weren’t separated then,” he tells me coldly. “Just in a very cold, platonic marriage.” My foul mood seems to have rubbed off on him.

Every other death I’ve experienced up to this point has been sudden. One second here, the next gone. My Dad was alive until we got that call. Rue was alive until that bullet cut through her and she bled out in my arms. Thresh, Scotts… All here one minute and gone the next. No time to prepare, no chances to fuck up your last words because even they went to death unsuspecting.

“I yelled at him and called him a hypocrite…” I finally whisper. “I knew he was going to die… and I yelled at him…” I slide down in my seat. “I can’t even say goodbye right.” I don’t know how to grieve. Every time someone I care for dies, there’s something big that pulls me from it, shielding me from the pain.

Peeta just rests his hand on my knee and gives it a light squeeze. “Katniss, he knew you were upset, plus you were pregnant… People react to bad news and loss differently, you get angry…”

“I do not!” I snap.

“Right…” He begins to idly rub from my knee to the apex of my thigh, finally stopping right at the top and kneading the flesh just under my hip.

“I’m sorry I insinuated that you would cheat on me…” I whisper.

He squeezes my thigh again. “Even when things were bad, I only had eyes for you…”

“Even now that it’s a train wreck down there?” I ask just as we hit a congested toll. Peeta leans over and kisses my cheek before taking our E-Z Pass from my hand.

“Please, a train wreck?”

“I just pushed a tiny human out of there… So yeah, a train wreck.” The slow movement wakes Riley up, but she doesn’t cry. Instead, she continues to make strange babbling and cooing noises.

“Exactly, you pushed _our_ tiny human out. God, I wish you could see things from my point of view, but bringing Riley in the world has to be the sexiest thing you’ve ever done.” Just then, Riley squeals in the most inhuman octave known to man. I cringe as Peeta and I just exchange looks. At least she’s happy.

“Yeah, that’s because you were up top with me, if you were watching…” I shudder.

You can tell when you’ve crossed into Pennsylvania from Delaware. The roads are rougher, even though I-95 and the Turnpike are under constant construction. That and the lack of state troopers turn the de jure speed limit into whatever the hell you want. When we get to Philly International, I help my mother and sister get their bags into the back of the SUV as Peeta goes to change Riley and attempt to feed her. It’s early and this side of the airport is nearly empty, so no one minds that we’re violating their three minute rule.

“He’s not giving her a cold bottle, is he?” my mother asks.

“Nope, it’s formula from a thermos. She won’t need another meal until we’re upstate,” I tell Mom while taking Riley from Peeta. “Then we can get you out of this ridiculous winter coat that makes you look like a starfish and a bear spliced together.”

I get the bitch seat on the way up, sandwiched between Prim and Riley’s car seat. While Prim talks about college and wedding plans, I idly stroke my daughter’s chubby cheek with my index finger while she gently sucks on my thumb.

For all the ‘good’ PENNDOT tries to do with the Pennsylvania Turnpike, it's resulted with more bad. Twenty years of construction and rest stops on only one side of the road spaced out just long enough. By the time you reach one, you’re ravenous and about to piss yourself.

Although she’s fast asleep by the time we get to Nanticoke, Riley is the focus of everyone’s attention. I watch my aunts pass her back and forth while telling each other which one of my great-grandmothers she resembles the most. “She definitely has Bubby’s eyes,” Aunt Rooba insists.

“Bubby was a Hawthorne, you old bitty. How the hell is an Everdeen going to get Hawthorne eyes?” Ripper asks. The fact that Prim and Rory are going to be the first Hawthorne and Everdeen couple to make it down the aisle is historic.

I pull Peeta aside. “They’re going to connect Riley with death…” I whisper.

Peeta looks over the room, everyone doting on our baby. “I think she’s a distraction, though she needs a nap. She keeps yawning.”

“She’s getting bored of everyone saying she looks like Bubby Hawthorne… Even Bubby, though she’s been dead since the eighties.” I move from my spot on the edge of the room. “It’s time for someone’s nap. We don’t need a grumpy baby later!”

Peeta and I head upstairs to where we put Riley’s car seat. We’re staying with his parents so they can watch Riley during the funeral on Monday and we could get a good night’s sleep. The only quiet room in the house, Sae’s bedroom, is already occupied.

“Aww… remember when we were that cute?” Peeta asks. Johanna and Gale are out cold, his leg thrown over hers, her back against his chest.

I circle around the bed so I can see their faces and get Riley a clean diaper. “Katniss, we can’t leave her in here…” Peeta whispers loudly.

“What? They can both sleep through a VBED,” I tell him, winding up to toss the diaper at him when I notice Gale’s hand covering Johanna’s, which is resting on her stomach, their fingers knotted together. Gale’s heavy breathing turns into full blown snoring. “See?” I whisper, tossing the diaper. Peeta changes Riley, but she doesn’t seem to care. Now that the room is quiet, she’s already half asleep and a minute flat after being strapped into her seat, she’s out cold.

We exit quietly. “Clearly she gets that from you, Queen Narcolepsy,” Peeta jokes.

I just roll my eyes. “You sleep in a foxhole, dear, then we’ll talk.” I take his hand in mine. Now without the distraction of new life, we need to focus on the lost life. He gives my hand a light squeeze, reassuring me that he’s still there, that he’s still my rock.

It takes my mother a while to warm up to everyone at first. Family is family, but walls can still be built up. I set out to find the one thing besides a baby that can break the ice - Waterfall’s old dog, Red.

Peeta doesn’t ask where I’m dragging him, and doesn’t let go of my hand. After searching the barn, the shed, and the entire house, the dumb dog is nowhere to be found.

When we get back inside, everyone is talking about ‘that one time in the seventies’.  It’s a story I’ve heard so much about, though I wish I hadn’t. My parents’ whirlwind romance, summer skinny dipping, and running from the cops. Generation to generation, the family stays the same.

“Where’s Red?” I ask when there’s a lull in the conversation.

Everyone goes quiet, eerily quiet. Finally, Ripper speaks up, “Damned thing curled up and died right after Waterfall, right at the foot of his bed.” This is more like the kind of death I’m accustomed to; the quick unexpected kind, not the slow decline of health and withering away.

We move into the living room, where people are sitting on every flat surface. Peeta and I find a spot in front of the fireplace, my chest against his back. “We should have had a reunion this summer,” Ripper sighs. “We could have brought out the moonshine…”

“The moonshine you cooked up in your bathtub?” Bristel asks, pulling out a bottle of Wild Turkey.

I reach forward and steal it from her. “Mine.”

“No, screw you, Katniss. You’re not doing this to me again!”

I unscrew the lid and take a swig. I haven’t had a _real_ drink in close to a year, and it’s refreshing. I pass the bottle up to Peeta. He takes a small swig before passing the bottle back to Bristel. I nestle my head into the crook of his neck, the stubble on his chin scratching my forehead. I don’t mind.

We start passing around photographs, the little, old square kind with the rounded corners. “Holy crap, Grandma Sae! This is you?” Prim gasps. “You’re a fox!”

Sae just grins. “Yeah, that was right after the war. Grandpa Everdeen still wasn’t home from Korea, but the war couldn’t keep us apart for long.” Peeta squeezes me, probably remembering our various separations. We always find our way back to each other, though. “Ah, him and Waterfall were the Abraham and Isaac of the forties and fifties, even though my husband was a little older than Waterfall. Then, along came Kitty-“

“Do NOT call me that,” I groan. “Because this one,” I point up at Peeta with my thumb, “Will pick it up just to irk me.”

“Yup,” he says, snapping the ‘p’. I try to elbow him but he holds me too tight. “For the rest of your life, Kitty…”

“I hate you…”

“Anyway… then along came _Katniss_ and Gale.”

“No, you don’t,” he whispers in my ear. My knees are bent up close to my chest so when his hand travels down, he brushes the skin right above my pants.

“You mean Cop Magnet One and Cop Magnet Two,” Buck, my father’s older brother, jokes. “I remember getting the call at three in the morning. All Darius had to say was, ‘Do you want me to give them to their Momma’s or would you rather wallop them yourself?’ I couldn’t make Hazelle and Lily go for them.”

“To be fair, we only have two mugshots and Darius let us take them to scare our mothers…” Gale comes down the stairs holding Johanna’s hand in his, while Riley is in the other arm. “Did you two lose this?”

Peeta gasps. “That’s where we put her? Katniss, you need to be more careful!”

“It was your turn to watch her! One second there,” Gale hands me my baby. “The next, she’s halfway to Scranton!” I spread my legs and seat a groggy Riley between them. “Was she crying?”

“Nope, just staring. We felt bad…”

Over the next few hours, many tears are shed. The Wild Turkey is emptied, though Bristel bitches the entire time that we’re stealing her drink. Riley gets passed around the room like the pictures we’re going through. The images get crisper and crisper until we reach the last photo of the entire clan together. I was nine, and Prim just five. Mom holds her in her arms, while I sit on my father’s shoulders.

All of a sudden, I break. I do my best to hide it, but soon my body begins trembling. No one says anything. I’m not the first person to break down like this tonight, and I won’t be the last.

We talk about Christmases, Thanksgivings, the good times, even the bad times. Each story is like another weight on my shoulders. It’s a shame that the only reason we get together like this is for a death or a wedding.

Before I know it, Peeta, Riley and I need to head to his parents’ house. “Will you be back tomorrow?”

We’re in a hard position. On one hand, this is Peeta’s last chance to spend time with his parents and brothers before going to Iraq, something he avoided like the plague after his first deployment, considering he was in Germany between Afghanistan and Iraq.

On the other hand, my family has just lost someone very important to us. But between the intermittent crying and the sudden laughter, I think coming here tomorrow will bring me even further into insanity. “Maybe later in the day,” I answer. “We’re spending time with the in-laws.” I feel it almost immediately, the room turning on me. Everyone but my mother, sister, Gale and Johanna thinks that I’m just turning my back on them once again. They quickly go back to talking, their body language telling me that they’re done with me for now.

When we get upstairs, Riley refuses to sit still while I zip her into her ridiculous bear coat. Every time I think I’m getting her in, she sticks out a leg or an arm. Peeta doesn’t realize this because he’s busy packing empty bottles and getting her seat ready.

Between my family’s quick to judge nature, the lack of sleep and general stress of the day, I’ve had enough and decide to bolt. I’ve never gotten out of a room faster. In the foyer, I shove my feet into my boots and pull on my well-worn Carhartt.

 _Air, I need air…_ And I run.

I run away from the family so quick to turn on me, away from the child I brought into the world and just couldn’t just understand. I’m at my wit’s end and instead of just being agreeable for once, I run away from the one person who seems to love me no matter what.

“Katniss!” he shouts as I run into the twilight. There’s no confusion in his voice, only pure terror.

I bite my lip, forcing back tears. _I’m sorry… I just need air…_

Another voice follows his, then another and another. Gale, Johanna, Mom and Prim, all calling for me but I’m already in the trees, listening to their voices echo.

I run until I know I’m not being followed, my eyes unable to adjust to the dim but still somehow bright light. This is the worst time of day. I don’t know how far in I am when my loose boots catch either a root or a rock, causing me to fall. I catch myself with my hands but lower myself to the ground and curl up.

The forest is dead and empty. Between me trying to keep my boots on and my clumsy, heavy steps, any creature in the vicinity is long gone. I curl into a ball, my chest burning as I choke on my sobs and try to catch my breath from the run.

 _What have I done?_ I ask myself in a moment of clarity. Everything from the last week hits me at once.

_Peeta’s being deployed._

_Waterfall is dead and the last thing I said to him was, ‘You’re a fucking hypocrite.’_

But none of that matters once the guilt of running away from Riley hits me.

I don’t know how long I just lay there, sobbing, before he finds me. “Oh God, Katniss,” Peeta shifts me with little to no empathy and drags me to a tree so I can sit up. I see his face through my tears. There’s no anger, no confusion, only fear.

“I-I can’t. And Riley…” I choke out before taking a deep breath, trying to force some kind of air into my lungs. “I d-don’t know how to!” Peeta says nothing as he pulls me into his arms.

“Shhh…” is all I get while he strokes my hair. At some point I calm down, but my breakdown has caused my brain to click off.

I wake up in bed at my in-laws without Peeta. The room is silent except for a very faint rustling noise, almost like a finger brushing against fabric.

I sit up. Riley is wide awake in her fold-up crib, her legs still kicking away. I scoop her up and sit in the armchair in the corner of the room, keeping her as close to me as I can without crushing her. “I’m so sorry…” I tell her. “I’m still learning… they have books, but those are shit once you have the real thing in your hands,” I start rambling. “It’s like at Basic when they diagrammed an M16 and how to take it apart in order to service it. Then they handed me one and I just stared at it.” She seems content pressed to my chest, relaxed even. Her legs stop kicking and I just keep talking. “You don’t even know what’s happening. Your father’s being taken from us for six months and I’m so… so _afraid_ that I’m going to fail the both of you… and I could never forgive myself. I’m trying to keep you safe… keep you safe from the world… but who is keeping you safe from me?”

The question hangs in the air unaddressed and I shift so I can stroke her fine, dark hair. The door opens slowly and Peeta cautiously enters, holding the baby monitor. I look everywhere but at him.

“Katniss,” he starts, but I interrupt.

“Don’t. Just don’t…  Don’t come in here and use your wounded animal voice because I can’t take that right now.”

“Okay,” he tells me, his voice normal again. “But please, let’s just talk?”

“About what? How I ran away from my grieving family because they think I’m turning my back on them, when in fact I just can’t take being in a room full of grieving people? Or how I ran away from my two month old baby because I just couldn’t take _anything?_ Or how for the second time in the last twelve months, I’ve run away from my husband? Which aspect of my failure as a mother, a wife, and overall family member would you like to discuss?”

He stiffens a little and I go back to stroking Riley’s hair. “Is that what you honestly think about yourself?”

I brush Riley’s hair back, making it stick up in all directions. I smile faintly but it quickly fades. “Yes,” I say quietly.

“Katniss, we all have our breaking points. You’ve just spent the last month and a half dealing with a colicky baby, now my deployment and your grandfather’s death.” Well, pseudo-grandfather, but we aren’t discussing semantics. “Plus, all the stress you’re under for your physical test next week… It’s okay…”

“Stop forgiving me for all the shit I do, Peeta! I ran away from our baby!” I cry. “I didn’t even look back. I heard you and everyone else calling for me and I ran until I tripped and fell.”

“Katniss…” he sits on the arm of the chair, his strong arm around my shoulders. “Almost three years of marriage and I’ve learned something about you…”

“What, that I’m a coward?”

He kisses my temple. “No, that you get overloaded and scared sometimes. And unless the situation is life or death, you run. But you can’t do that, especially after I leave. Riley is helpless, and if you leave, she has no one…”

“I know…”

“She doesn’t have an older sister to replace a broken mother.”

“I know,” I repeat as I pull Riley closer and kiss her forehead.

“But you have people to help. Cinna, Portia, your mother, Prim, along with my parents. You won’t be alone…”

“I know…”

He kisses my temple again. “Do you know any words other than ‘I know?’” he asks.

“Shut up…”

Peeta takes Riley from my arms and I move over to our bed. I watch as he holds her until she falls asleep to the sound of my singing.

Peeta places her in the fold-up crib and covers her with the blanket before practically face planting on the bed. He brings his arm out and pulls me to him, still face down in the pillow. After a second or so, he looks at me. “Smile, please?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful when you smile…” I don’t have it in me, so he rubs his nose against mine. “Remember the first night we spent together? You jumped out of bed and whined about sex hair even though we were both still clothed.” As the memory comes to me, I feel a tiny little smile. We got through today together, just as we will tomorrow and the day after that. But April 2nd is coming, and I’m not sure I will ever be ready for it.


	44. A Big Complicated Word Like Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn’t see it before because you don't follow me on tumblr, for the month of October (most likely) I will be on hiatus. I have plans to continue but just need a break for personal reasons. This being said, I’m not forbidding myself from writing. I’ll still work on my fanfictions but with no goals to update until after Halloween. You *might* see me. Might, but it will probably not be what you’re thinking.
> 
> Anyways, I made this for you, and Chelzie polished it up, enjoy!

It’s bright when I wake up, and warm. I relax and flex my fingers, feeling Peeta do the same after my attempts. I crack my eyes open. He’s either sound asleep or taking advantage of this brief moment of rest before Riley wakes up and there’s no choice but to start the day. I back up a little, trying to save this image in my mind. His head is resting on his arm, which is bent just to keep my head close to his while we slept. His fingers are intertwined with the hair on the back of my head. I rub my forehead with the hand that isn’t holding onto his, and it’s a little painful from his unshaven face. I bring my hand forward to run my thumb along the stubble on his jawline as I try to stretch my legs. I find they’ve become so intertwined with his that I’ll have to unweave them in order to break free. Instead, I press the tops of my feet into his. I drop my hand and move closer to him, wanting to have absolutely every inch of my body up against him as possible.

“Good morning…” he yawns, kissing my forehead.

 _I’ll get out of bed tomorrow…_ I think to myself while snuggling into him. He holds me close. _Yes, tomorrow will be better…_

Peeta moves away from me, and I hear shuffling as he gets up. His footfalls are uneven, which means his leg must be bothering him. I squeeze my eyes shut and shove my head under the pillow. I expect him to go to the bathroom and come back to bed, perhaps even bringing the baby back. But after a few minutes, I doze off again. When I wake again, he’s still not back. “Peeta?” I call, throwing my pillow off my head. I roll over to see an empty crib. I guess he’s already started his day. I move to the middle of the bed and flip his pillow before ducking my head under it and hugging mine. Tomorrow is another day, so I’m just going to pretend this one doesn’t exist.

Once my eyes are closed again, I listen for signs of life in my in-laws’ house. There are heavy footsteps heading in my direction, so I lay very still. “Katniss, I know you’re awake. I heard you on the baby monitor.” I should be uncomfortable that he’s been using it to keep an eye on me more than Riley.

“Don’t you use your counter intelligence voodoo on me… covert…” I say, rolling away from him. “Bullshit…” He doesn’t pull the blankets off me. Instead, he gets back in bed and I hear Riley cooing right in front of me. I reach my arm out from under the blanket and pull her into me. “Yes, we can live like this…” I tell her quietly, running my finger up and down her belly.

“Are you going to get out of bed?” Peeta asks, lifting my pillow to expose my head to the cold morning air.

“No…” I tell him quietly. “Maybe tomorrow…” He gets under the blanket, draping his arm over Riley and I.

“Baby…”

“She’s right here.”

“ _Kitty_ ,” he teases.

“I will take all the canteens out of your bag!” I threaten.

Peeta sighs heavily and rolls onto his back. “While you’re at it, leave out my Kevlar. Have you felt how heavy that vest is?”

It’s a trap, but I fall for it anyway, or perhaps I’m just oversensitive. “Don’t you even joke like that!” I hiss, already feeling tears prickle at my eyes. Images of his funeral and me holding Riley come to mind. I steady Riley and get out of bed, fighting back tears while rushing into the only bathroom in the house. I close the door and turn on the shower, while sitting on the toilet to try and calm myself. “He’ll be okay, he’s just going over there as a translator,” I tell myself. “He’ll be as safe as a journalist…” This only makes me feel worse, considering that the news about two captured journalists being executed just broke a few days ago.

Peeta knocks on the door. “Katniss?” he asks. “Can I come in?”

“Go away!” I cry. He opens the door anyway and kneels in front of me.

He takes my hands, which are warm and calloused, in his. They still know how to make me sing, but have also killed before. I just stare at them, thinking of how they might feel if they were icy cold. Or would they put gloves on him for his funeral?

Peeta tugs me hard, ripping me from the toilet and lifting the seat just as I vomit, or at least try to. An empty stomach early in the morning is painful while heaving into the toilet. “Shhh…” he soothes, rubbing my back until my heaving stops. Nothing’s come up, but he still forces water into me.

“How could you say that?” I cry. “How could you even joke about something like that?”

He pulls me into his lap and cradles me. “I didn’t know… Baby, I didn’t know it would hurt you like this.  I’m afraid, too, you know. I’m afraid I’ll get hurt and won’t be able to help you with Riley, or you’ll get into an accident here while I’m halfway around the world.” We hold onto each other for dear life before getting into the shower together, quietly helping each other get clean. When I think we’re done, I go to turn the water off but he stops me, instead pulling me to his chest and just holding me there.

“Come on,” I finally whisper. “Riley’s probably already fussing, and your family is waiting…”

* * *

It's strange... or far too normal for Peeta and I to be walking down the streets of our hometown pushing a stroller.

“I think I’m having a moment…” he confesses. “I think I’m realizing why people stay here.” He’s right. It has this _right_ feeling to it. The young couple and their child, in the town their parents grew up in, and their parents before them and so on until what feels like the beginning of time.

“Yeah…” I sigh, kicking at some gravel on the sidewalk. “Let’s never get boring…” I link my arm with his and rest my head on his shoulder. “I love you…”

“And I love you. And boring? Please… have you met yourself?”

“She and I used to go out for coffee once or twice a month. Then she had a baby…” I sigh as we turn down the alley between the bakery and the thrift store next door.

“Are your brothers here yet?” I ask, detaching the baby seat from the stroller. I really don’t need to ask, as we can hear them even with the door closed.

“I’m going to assume yes, since that was definitely my older brother yelling ‘I’m going to twist your dick off’…”

Peeta takes the car seat from me. “Aren’t you so glad you-“

I look up at him and give him the ‘don’t you dare’ look. “Beauty before age?” I ask, opening the door.

“Please, I’m a month older than you…”

“That wasn’t what I-“

“Then maybe next time you’ll wear a fucking cup!” one of my brother-in-laws shouts.

“Andrew! Ryan! You are adults! Act like it!” my mother-in-law scolds. “And the load is coming in ten minutes…” She finally sees us in the doorway. “Oh good, another set of hands!” I don’t exactly know how to work a kitchen and make it do my bidding. It looks like I’m stuck with my mother in-law and my fussy baby while the men go off and get whatever ‘a load’ is… maybe a delivery?

I’ve learned that sometimes babies just cry. Not because they’re hurting, hungry or cold, but just because they can. So I gently pat Riley’s back and kiss her fuzzy head.

“How are you feeling today?” Lisa Mellark asks idly, writing in a ledger. “You gave Peeta a real scare last night…” Her tone is surprisingly sad.

I shrug in response. “I’d be better if your granddaughter would stop crying in my ear…” I think she’s warm so I take off her jacket, but they keep opening the door so I put it back on. Riley doesn’t want to be in her seat, nor held by me. “What do I do when Peeta’s deployed? Sometimes she just wants him! I can’t…” I look away as my mother-in-law studies me. “I don’t think I’ll be able to see him off on April second, but I have to because I can’t keep him from seeing his daughter one last time before he goes away for six months! When he gets back, Riley will hopefully be standing and saying ‘Mama’ and ‘Dada’. He’s going to miss _all of it_! It feels like I’m robbing him of her first year of life. I’ve been home with her for two months…” I’m surprised that Peeta’s mother just listens to what I’m saying. She doesn’t call me a coward, just listens to my ramblings about my anxieties, my guilt, and each and every one of my problems.

Once I’m finally finished, she speaks. “I never wanted Peeta to enlist. Honestly, it was the last thing I wanted from him. I didn’t raise three children, fight through the years of, well…” she pauses, biting her lip. “I’ll put it simply, depression, to send one off to slaughter when he turned eighteen.”

“To be fair, we were in peace time when he enlisted. He figured he’d go to Parris Island, come back and go into the Reserves, or work on a base until he got free college.”

She tucks the pencil into her hair. “He did come home, head shaved and everything. Then, well… September eleventh.” Honestly, that was enough. That day sent me begging to be reassigned, though it took two years to get me out of the States. It’s one of the many topics that Peeta and I choose not to discuss. For the first time since my knowing her, Lisa Mellark starts crying. “I remember when Peeta told me he was being sent to Kuwait to get ready for whatever was going to happen in Afghanistan… I wasted his last week at home not talking to him and before I knew it, his Dad was driving him to the airport…”

“You should come…” I whisper.  “Well, this time, anyways. He doesn’t fly out until fifteen hundred. Usually, it’s just the families on the tarmac for a few hours. Plus, I’ll probably need someone to cry like a baby with after he leaves…”

She smiles just as the back door opens and we hastily wipe our eyes. “I feel like things just got really serious really fast…” Ryan sighs. “Katniss…”

“It wasn’t me, Riley started it!” I hold her under her armpits. She has stopped fussing and just looks grumpy. God, understanding her is like trying to disarm a bomb. Each situation requires a different skill set.

Throughout most of the day, I find that my only use is to take care of the baby, which is perfectly fine with me. Between talking to her and Prim’s constant texting, there isn’t much time for anything besides a quick nod and an ‘uh-huh’ every so often. It’s a bit boring, but my husband seems relaxed. If he and the baby are happy, then I’m happy… as long as I don’t think about tomorrow.

* * *

“I’ve never seen you in a suit before…” I tell Peeta quietly. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t even know he owned one until I packed it for him.

He kisses my nose. “Well, I’ve never seen you in a black dress before…” He smiles faintly while tying his tie. “Or a dress, really…”

I smile as I fix my panty-hose, while hoping the person who invented them died a painful death. “I wore one to our wedding, and over the summer while I was a bloated whale…”

Peeta tries to tell me over and over that I wasn’t disgusting while I was pregnant, but I still don’t believe him. When we get to the funeral home, I expect to be ostracized by the family again. Instead, I’m bombarded by tight hugs and apologies. Apparently, my milk and honey sister yelled at them after I ran the other night. I try to make it from the parlor to the casket, but end up holding Peeta’s hand until it goes numb and dragging him along while I pace. Every time I think I’m ready to go in, the wind gets knocked out of me and I move away.

“Katniss… breathe…” Peeta says, grabbing me by shoulders. I take several calming breaths.

“Let’s do this…” It’s not that I can’t sit through the entire service, but rather the initial seeing of the body. I’ve never been to an open casket funeral before. When my father died, I was in denial that it was actually him until my mother took me by the shoulders and yelled that it was him. It was one of the last things she said before switching off.

Everyone watches us walk up the aisle to Waterfall’s casket. _I can do this… I can do this…_ I tell myself while staring at my shoes. Finally, we stop and I have no choice but to look. I’ve seen dead bodies before. My stomach knots up as my eyes travel from the flowers to the dark red pedestal for people to kneel on. Waterfall doesn’t even look like the man who basically forced me to get treatment for my PTSD, let alone the person who once told me I would never amount to anything if I didn’t get my head out of my ass. He’s so thin and actually clean shaven.

Peeta wraps his arm around my shoulders, his thumb stroking my arm in an attempt to calm me, but my body won’t stop shaking. “I’m sorry…” I begin. “You’ve done so much and I couldn’t even apologize for what I said to you…” I whisper, knowing he can’t hear me. His consciousness is gone like a light that’s been shut off, but his body is still here.

Gale has the ‘honor’ of delivering the eulogy. He talks about how after our fathers died and his family was about to lose their house, Waterfall poured his life savings into their mortgage so they wouldn’t end up on the streets. I just stare at my feet, feeling like the biggest bitch for hating him because he couldn’t give us food. At least my family was warm and had no risk of losing the house.

The able-bodied grandkids are tasked with being pallbearers. After we pray, listen to speeches, cry, and even argue about who said what fifty years ago, the service concludes and we’re allowed to say our final goodbyes.

The last person to go is Sae, who can only say, “You old bastard, we were gonna go senile together…” and shaking her head. When I help lift the coffin, it’s surprisingly light. Gale, Vick, Rory, Prim, Bristel and I are the only ones well enough to carry the grey casket to the hearse. Vick, the second youngest of the Hawthorne bunch, chose not to follow in the footsteps of his older two brothers, a relief to his mother. The door to the hearse closes roughly and there’s a brief discussion about who is driving who to the cemetery, then back to Sae’s.

“So when’s the wedding?” I ask Prim and Rory from the back seat. I need a break from the depressing truth of today.

“Well… we were thinking this summer, but it feels wrong to even consider having the wedding while Peeta’s in Iraq, so sometime next spring.”

“Copy-cat,” Peeta says from the driver’s seat.

“You got married in March, you can’t claim an entire season!” Prim whines. Peeta gives me a guilty look. My sister has put her wedding on hold just so he can be there.

“But it might be the summer, all things considering…” Rory starts. He and Prim start having a silent conversation. “Oh, just show her!”

“Fine!” Prim digs through her purse. “So… I’ve been looking into medical schools…” Finally, as she should be! “And I narrowed it down to, well… one.” Like a child, she pokes a folded up piece of paper underneath my headrest. I grab it and unfold the crisp paper. The name _George Washington University_ is written in big and bold letters at the top.

“If it works out, Rory is going to transfer to the Honor Guard at 8th and I, and I’ll continue running IV’s in cadavers!”

I break down at this news, as it means I’ll have Prim at an arm’s reach again. “We’re moving, hopefully right after Prim graduates from Duke… though I’ll have to stay behind until July…”

“That’s okay, I’ll take care of her,” I promise in one breath.

“She means I’ll babysit…”

The cheerful mood is completely gone once we reach the cemetery. Citizen funerals are uncomfortably quiet; no guns, no bugles, just prayers and tears.

I hold my breath as they lower the casket into the ground. Here I was, under the impression that he wanted to be cremated, but apparently he had a last minute change of heart. Peeta strokes my hair, holds me close and every so often tells me that everything will be okay…

* * *

We sit like we did in front of the fire at Grandma Sae’s, my back against Peeta’s chest. His head rests on my shoulder, lips occasionally brushing against my neck to let me know he’s still there. We listen in silence as Jessop strums a tune on Waterfall’s old guitar that I haven’t heard in years but I can still hum along with, the words playing in my head. I rock a little, taking Peeta with me while I attempt to keep Riley fast asleep.

“Run, run, run away…” I start in a hushed voice, brushing Riley’s hair back. Once I start, all hushed conversation stops. “Buy yourself another day…”

Jessop chooses to join me. “A cold wind whispering secrets in your ear, so low only you can hear…” And like that his cuts out, leaving my voice and I alone in the wind. “Run, run, run and hide, somewhere no one else can find. Tall trees bend and lean pointing where to go, where you will still be all alone…” Instead of my family, I sing to my husband and our daughter. “Don't you fret, my dear. It'll all be over soon… I'll be waiting here for you…”

More quiet, mournful voices choose to join me. “Run fast as you can, no one has to understand. Fly high across the sky from here to kingdom come…”

I let my own voice fade out, listening to my family’s off key and raspy voices. It’s serene until someone who won’t be named throws a length of copper wire into the fire, turning it every shade of unnatural. I cover more of Riley with my coat, trying to protect her from the potentially harmful smoke.

Johanna flops down next to Peeta and I. “Can I see the little rodent?” she asks.

For the first time all day, Peeta takes his hand off me and shoves her. “Not if you’re going to call her that!” I zip up my coat, sealing Riley in.

Johanna sighs. “Fine, might I see the not rodent Riley Christine…?” I look up at Peeta just to be sure.

He pouts a little, then sighs. “I’ll allow it…” I unzip my coat and pass Riley to Johanna, who holds her under the armpits, and looks at her like I used to, as if she’s some huge mystery.

“How much bigger has she gotten since you squeezed her out of your cooch?”

“A few pounds?” The cold air on her face rips Riley from her peaceful sleep. She just stares, unsure of whether she should cry or something else, her blue eyes trying to find Johanna in the light.

Peeta takes the time to warm his hands up under my shirt. “She’s gotten a little longer,” he says while squeezing me, and I’m positive he’s remembering how he will be missing the next six months of her life. “She’s going to get so big…”

It’s times like this that I can’t wait for October, when our lives will be right side up again. I can’t wait until Peeta is released from his contract and I never have to worry about his safety again.

“I’m having one of these… in November. November fourth…” she tells us as she passes Riley back to me.

Peeta moves to hug her, and holds Johanna to him for a minute. “Oh, don’t turn into a big pile of mush…” I hear her say just as a big log cracks and sends sparks into the air. Fall should come quickly… then everything will be happier.

* * *

_March 26, 2007_

Going back to work after having a baby is quite possibly hell on Earth. Not only do Peeta and I have to trust a daycare with our daughter, I have to spend eight hours without her. After work, Peeta spends every possible second with Riley. Before we know it, it’s our three year anniversary. Portia and Cinna insist on taking Riley for the night so we can enjoy ourselves.

“Are you sure?” I ask, handing the diaper bag over to Cinna while Portia rocks Riley a little in her arms and smiles. She seems so natural, which makes it seem strange that they don’t have kids.

Cinna just grins. “Oh, yes! It’s your anniversary and you’ll be apart for six months. We’ll take care of the little one tonight. You two…” he hesitates, “Try not to break the bed frame.”

“Please… if the beds in Baghdad could survive us, this bed will do just fine. She usually feeds every four hours, give or take; though sometimes it’s three, and other times, she pushes five. Besides that, she’s been pretty agreeable lately.”

“Have you worn the nightgown we gave you last year?” he asks. I really don’t want to explain to him that the nightgown was what I wore the night Peeta and I split; that he basically accused me of taking him for a test drive and I ran straight to Iraq. Cinna and Portia are aware that we hit a rocky patch, but don’t know the full extent of it.

“Your wife is holding the product of that nightgown,” I chuckle as I walk over to where Portia is holding Riley and stroke her fuzzy head. “I’m sorry your Daddy isn’t here, baby… but he’s not ready to say goodbye to you for any amount of time…” I kiss the fuzz on her head. “If you need anything, or if she gets to be too much, just knock on the door. We’re staying in tonight.” Portia nods in reply.

I don’t want to leave her. We were already away from her all day while she was at daycare, but Peeta and I need this one night to celebrate our marriage, even the flawed bits.

I creep back into the apartment. Peeta’s on the couch petting the dog’s head, the hopeless look on his face feels like a stone in my stomach. “When I get back, she won’t even know who I am…” he mumbles.

I sit next to him, chasing away the cat. “What did Phoenix do when you came back?”

“Well, I could barely walk, so she knocked me on my ass.”

I smirk, that’s our girl. “But you were gone for well over a year, and she remembered. She remembered your voice, your smell…”

He snorts. “But she’s a baby, she’ll-“

“Peeta, stop moping. It’s our three year anniversary. Yes, you’re going away for six months but… let me show you something.” I pull him from the couch and into the nursery. “Know why I bought you all new shirts?” I pull out the bottom drawer of Riley’s dresser which contains all of the t-shirts he wears under his fatigues. Some of them have holes in the armpits or neck, while others are in perfectly good condition. I took all of them and sprayed them with his cologne. “We’ll Skype whenever we get a chance so you can talk to her and she can hear your voice. When you come home, she’ll remember your smell because I’ll put one of these outside of her crib every night.”

He hugs me until the air is pushed from my lungs, burying his face into my shoulder. “God, I love you…”

“And I love you, and so does Riley. Now, let’s stop being all down on this situation and take full advantage of an empty apartment…” Well, not completely empty. We still have a curious aging Boxer and a cat that likes to just pop up in places.

* * *

We settle for Chinese take-out because neither of us wants to get dressed to go out or devote the energy to cook. It’s kind of sentimental, considering with our weird schedules, take-out was number one on our diets during our first year of marriage. When I get home with our food, he’s nowhere to be found. Hell, the table isn’t even set! “Peeta?” I call. “Peeta, you had one job!” I whine.

“I’m in here!” he calls from the bedroom. When I find him, he has the old sheets from the guest room on the floor, already stained with paint. His sorrow is gone for now and he just grins, a streak of green paint smeared across his cheek.

“You are such a mess…” I grumble, walking around his easel. “I’m gone for maybe fifteen minutes, and you pulled all this out?” He doesn’t answer because it’s too obvious, so he takes his paint brush and paints from my jaw down my neck to my collar bone. The paint feels like a thick, cold lotion spreading across my skin, little fibers tickling the sensitive flesh of my neck. I can’t help myself and moan.

This is all the encouragement Peeta needs. “You should probably take off your clothes,” I don’t at first, but Peeta sets down the brush and takes off his shirt. I follow suit, minding the wet paint on my neck. I toss my t-shirt onto the bed and he turns me around to take off my bra as I go for the pants.

Once I’m naked, I go for his but he stops me. “Not yet. I don’t want any temptation before we’re finished,” he says, kissing my nose. “Don’t give me that look, Katniss…”

“What look?” I ask innocently.

“That face you’re making!”

I tilt my nose up. “What face? This is my face?” I’m too busy looking away that when his paint covered fingers run across my breasts, I shy away from the cold. “What are you doing?” I gasp.

Peeta shrugs. “Making art. I want it to be a surprise. Am I going to have to blindfold you?”

I think of how his brow creases when he draws or paints, and how he bites his lip. “Maybe? We’ve never tried that before and there’s a first time for everything…” He takes the cloth he would normally use to wipe his hands and paint brushes clean, but instead he ties it around the back of my head, tucking my braid up with it only after asking me ten times if I’m comfortable with it.

He guides me to the bathroom where we can safely make a mess and not permanently ruin the floor.  After a few minutes of him setting up, he’s back to finger painting on my heated skin. “Still with me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I murmur. From what I can feel, my breasts and most of my abdomen are completely covered.

“Good, because we’re going to have a little lesson...” I roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you rather sit in silence while I finger paint you?” he asks and I shake my head no. “Good,” he says as I feel a wet brush run down my neck. “This is called a mop brush, it’s kind of self-explanatory. It spreads a lot of paint around, and it’s not very good for anything except…” The brush leaves my skin and runs across my hipbones. “Covering a lot of ground.” The brush keeps moving, coating the rest of my stomach in paint.

“Now,” he continues, running a different one down my neck. “This is a flat brush, or square. You can get wide strokes like so…” He runs it along the side of my breast and underneath one. “Or narrow strokes.” He repeats the same stroke on my other breast and I shiver. He goes through other types of brushes; round ones that he uses on my chest and back, fan brushes that tease my nipples, and even one or two painting knives, though he only runs those along the underside of my lip.

He gets quiet as he goes from brushes back to his fingers, and then back to brushes again. Finally, the cloth is pushed up so my hair doesn’t get into the wet paint. To be honest, I don’t really care about what’s on me; all I care about is the feeling of my husband’s hands running over my skin. “Well?” he asks.

I look at the oranges, reds, and yellows blended with pretty much every other color in his arsenal, turning my chest and back into a sunset. He used my neck and arms as his palette for mixing, the spots now just a smeared mess of color. “Kiss me,” I whisper. He’s a mess, so all I get is a quick peck on the lips but I’m not having that. When he goes to wash the paint off his hands, I take his wrists and turn him so his back is against the counter. “I mean a _real_ kiss…” I get on my toes trying to be mindful of his pants, but then I stop caring. They’re the same old sweats he wears around the apartment every night, so I’ll just get him a new pair. He tangles his messy hands in my hair as I press my chest against his. The paint will take a while to dry, but as his tongue slips into my mouth and runs against my own, I feel his chest hair tugging against the paint. It’s a weird feeling and must be painful for him, so I pull away slowly. “I should probably get showered,” I say. His chest is a perfect mirror image of mine, although there are a few blank spots thanks to my breasts and smaller frame. “But before I wash off your masterpiece, would you like a picture to remember it?”

Peeta smirks and kisses my cheek. “I think I’ll remember _this_ for the rest of my life,” he says as he shoves me into the shower while cleaning up the mess. Our dinner long since forgotten, I just watch the rainbow of colors run off my body, not bothering to look up when the curtain is pulled back and two strong but very messy arms wrap around my body.

“Has it really been three years?” he asks, kissing my damp hair.

“Mhm…” I lean back into him, my back still covered. “And there will be many, many more to come. Though I don’t think I’m going to let you paint me again…” I run my fingers along the white tile of the shower, the red paint making it look like a murder scene.

“Yeah, I’m out of…” he pauses, taking inventory in his head. “Everything.”

“Took you that long?” He takes a step back and I feel something cold run down my back before his hands start massaging my shoulders.

“Sorry. I might have some white, black, and purple left.” He turns me around and continues scrubbing, getting down on his knees while I run my hands through his hair. It’s now long enough that I can push it back, making him kind of look like a greaser. It’s acceptable stateside, but he’ll either get shaved before deploying or have to do it here.

I don’t even question it when he lifts my leg so my foot is resting on the tub. It’s been so long since I’ve so much as touched myself, let alone had any real action down there. So when Peeta flattens out his tongue and runs it along my slit before gently sucking on my clit, I grab the shower bar before the shock can send me toppling over.

He looks up at me with a proud, dopey grin on his face. “Sit down, you…” he commands gently. I bring my hands down to his shoulders, using only my index and middle fingers to push him down. I slip a little while positioning between his legs, but eventually I figure out that if place my feet at the back of the tub and grip the side for dear life, I won’t hilariously fall on my face.

I take his cock in my hand, cautiously flicking my tongue against the tip. I’m still afraid that I'm going to slip. After all, I might want another kid someday. I’m almost insulted that he isn’t completely hard yet, though I don’t mind fixing that. “Mmm… Katniss…” he groans. The water beats against my back as I take him into my mouth, almost completely sheathing him between my lips. I’ve missed the taste of him, something I never thought I would be able to say. He runs his fingers through my hair, though they don’t slip right out. He accidentally pulls my hair and apologizes profusely.

I take his cock out of my mouth, still keeping my hand on him. “I don’t mind.” I go back to my work and he doesn’t hold back his moan.

The positioning is awkward and a little cramped, but I miss these impulse fucks… or is it lovemaking? It is our anniversary, after all. Getting into position for the actual deed is an adventure in and of itself. To do this comfortably, I have to sit on his crossed legs. I’m suddenly glad that most of his height comes from his torso, and wrap my own around his waist. Like clumsy high school kids, it takes both of us a few goes to get it in me.

And it hurts… oh does it hurt! “Shhh…” he whispers, rubbing my back and holding me to him. “I’m so sorry… maybe I should have warmed you up more…” I thought the water would be lubricant enough. In a way it kind of is, but my body seems to have forgotten what it needs to do, like relax and adjust.

After a few minutes of him telling me he’s sorry for hurting me, and letting my body figure out what the hell it needs to do, I start rocking my hips, “Oh…” I moan, “Fuck…”

“Such a lady…” I lean back a little as he brushes the hair away from my face before kissing my lips. Though this position is awkward and a little difficult, we’re eye level with each other.

“I’ve missed this…” I whisper as his fingers dig into my back, slipping a little against the damp flesh.

He leans forward, tilting me back so I have to hold myself up with my arms instead of touching him, which causes my small thrusts to rub at a completely different angle. “I have, too… can you keep this up?” he asks. It’s actually a little easier now that I can use more of my abs instead of my leg muscles.

I nod, my only complaint that the water is now running down my face. Peeta helps me support myself by placing one hand on my lower back, the other just above where we’re joined. He rests his thumb against my clit, not moving, just teasing. My own movements provide the necessary friction, but it’s frustrating.

“P-please…” I stutter, feeling the beginnings of an orgasm build but at this rate it won’t come. Well, _I_ won’t come.

“Please what?” he asks, teasing me even more, trying to make me beg. I want to play this game, refusing to ask him to make me come until he gives in, because I know how he likes to watch. But at this point, I’m far too desperate and greedy to play.

“Make me come!” I half beg. He doesn’t ask for more, instead applying more pressure, moving the digit just fast enough so my orgasm starts building, but not fast enough to rush things. A few minutes like this and the hard wall of the tub against my knees, the exertion starts to make continuing difficult. Peeta removes his hand and pulls me flush against him. “You’re not on the pill, and I don’t have a condom…”

“So?” I don’t get it at first.

“I don’t want to risk _anything_ ,” he says fiercely. I never knew one word could be so loaded. He doesn’t want to risk getting me pregnant again because it’s dangerous, and he doesn’t want to leave me for six months with another child in my belly. “Just trust me, okay?” I nod. “Okay, then get off me.” My knees are locked so it takes me a minute to get up. It’s even more difficult for Peeta, whose leg is still held together with metal and screws. “Bend over, sweetheart,” he commands while spanking me, the sound of his palm on my wet flesh making it sound harder than it really is.

I do as I’m told and spread my legs as wide as I can manage in the tub. He grips my hips and guides himself inside me with his free hand. It’s a lot less painful this time, but I know he won’t last long like this. Sure enough, he’s gone after a few very hard thrusts, spilling his seed so it goes down the drain.

It’s hard to hide my disappointment once he goes back to washing me after his orgasm. I don’t press it, perhaps his leg is sore? Or he thinks I already came, since I wasn’t exactly holding anything back.

Once we’re clean and free of paint, he shuts the water off and I start towel drying my hair. Peeta picks me up and carries me into our bedroom, kicking the door closed so we’re not interrupted by a curious dog.

He tosses me onto the bed, ripping away my towel and tossing it across the room. Peeta’s calloused hands grip just under my knees before pushing my legs up and spreading them as wide as possible. I lift my head up to look at him. His eyes are so hungry, and I can tell he wants this as much as I do.

He licks his lips once before sinking down between my thighs. He licks his fingers before slipping one inside me, his tongue flicking at my clit. I want to close my legs and shy away from the feeling, as it’s so foreign and so intense. Instead, I grip the sheets and hold on for dear life. He keeps making ‘come here’ motions with his finger before adding another. I feel the build-up, like a white hot coil tightening until the tension becomes too much. I release in a blur, my body twisting as I yell his name. He doesn’t let up, pushing me until I have to physically move myself from him, the sensation becoming too intense. I end up in the fetal position, trying to catch my breath as well as my wits. Peeta lies with his chest against my back, his arm draped over my waist. He pulls the blankets up to cover us.

“Happy Anniversary, Katniss…” he whispers, kissing the back of my neck.

“Happy Anniversary…” I yawn. The best present we could have ever gotten for each other this year is a night of uninterrupted sleep.


	45. I Don't Want This Night To End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Chelzie for polishing this up, and being my co-conspirator.
> 
> If you haven't guessed... I'm back from hiatus.

_March 2007_

“Oh, good God… look at him…” Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Marines are sexual beings. I roll my eyes as two female Marines check out my husband. Even though he’s leaving for Iraq in a few days, we have our yearly combat training. I screw the cap onto my water bottle. “And wedding ring tan line…” the one sighs dreamily.

“I heard he just had a kid…” I can’t really blame them. “But wedding ring tan line…” I hook my thumb in Peeta’s wedding ring; he gave it to me for safe keeping because apparently he couldn’t be bothered to put his own damn ring on his own damn chain. “Fair game?” one the women asks. Apparently being surrounded by muscled leathernecks destroys some women’s convictions, though I’m sure the men are the same way.

“I wouldn’t say fair game…” I idly tell them, my thumb still hooked in Peeta’s ring. “Heard his wife is a real bitch,” I say. They look disappointed.

MCMAP, or the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program, is just an annoyance. Riley has to be dropped off at daycare near 8th and I an hour and a half early, so instead of eight, we dropped her off at six thirty and she wouldn’t even eat. She barely even woke up, completely disinterested by what her mother and father were doing. As long as she has her pacifier and her grandmother’s knitted blanket, it seems to be enough.

“Alright, break’s over! Line up!” Unfortunately, I end up in front of Peeta, who playfully kicks my backside. I gasp and whip my head around. “Gunnery Sergeant Mellark, what would your wife say?” I ask.

“Second Lieutenant Mellark, why don’t you ask her yourself?” I roll my eyes at him and turn around.

“Ass…” I whisper over my shoulder. Our antics earn everyone twenty push-ups. Six hours later and getting flipped on my back more than during my first year of marriage, we’re on I-95 heading back to DC. “Can we get stationed in Hawaii?”

“Why, so we can bake in the sun three hundred and sixty five days of the year? I like seasons, plus we’re so close to West Virginia. You’ve been talking about going hunting in West Virginia since we moved up here. What can you hunt on a tropical island?”

I look out the window. “Colorful birds, lemurs…”

“There aren’t lemurs in Hawaii…”

I snort. “My name’s Peeta, and I know where all the lemurs in the world live EVER!”

“Mhm! If you want lemurs, we should go to Burma.”

“It’s actually Myanmar now.”

It gets quiet in the car while I watch Virginia pass by. I have just a few more days left with my husband. “I want to move,” I finally tell him.

“Well, we can’t move for another year. Our lease is up in June and you’re not moving while I’m gone. Not with the baby, and not after last time…”

“I have birth control taken care of for five years, baby.”

Peeta sighs. The parental part of his brain wants to start working on baby number two as soon as possible. Unfortunately, I have dreams and aspirations of my own and we have no room for another baby. The three of us barely fit in our two bedroom apartment on Davis Place. “Do you really want to be thirty-one and pregnant?”

“Do you really want to fit four people, a dog and a cat in our apartment?”

“No… not really… we’ll look when I get back. It’ll probably be a good time with my re-signing bonus, yours, and six months of tax free labor.”

I snort and rest my head on his shoulder. “You want to talk about tax free labor? I still haven’t gotten paid for all that work I did giving birth.”

He stops at a red light and kisses the top of my head. “The check’s in the mail.”

* * *

_April 1, 2007_

I almost wish our kitchen had a window. Rather than staring at the patterns from the roller brush on the off-white walls of our kitchen, I could maybe stare at the elementary school across the street. The same elementary school Riley won’t be going to because we’ll move to Virginia, making our commute almost intolerable, but we'll deal. The city is no place to raise a child, at least my child. Well, children, if Peeta has his way.

“Katniss?” I shut off the tap, having finished the dishes from breakfast about ten minutes ago, and take a deep breath. Peeta is leaving tomorrow. _I can do this…_

“Look how comfortable she is! Can I take her?” When I turn around, he has Riley in the chest pouch of his vest. She holds on with her little hands and looks like she’s sleeping peacefully.

I dry my hands off on the kitchen towel, tossing it to the counter. I hold our daughter’s head in my hand and stroke the black fuzz on top before kissing it. “She’s already been there once… and that was more than enough…”

I’ve been touch and go emotionally for the last few days. One second I’m thinking clearly, the next I’ll be curled up in a corner, crying. I can’t even look at Peeta and I know it’s bothering him. “I'm going to put her down for her nap…. then I need your help with something…”

“Okay…” I tell him quietly before kissing the baby and his cheek before heading into our bedroom. Tomorrow is the big day, the big miserable day. I’ve spent the last few days packing everything he needs in order to distract myself, but it always makes things worse.

I go through his things again; bags and bags of camo, canteens, everything he needs to survive a war zone. “Hun?” I snap in his direction, his heavy Kevlar still in my hands, about twice the size of mine. “There she is… I’ve been trying to talk to you for fifteen minutes. Are you okay?”

I sit down on the bed. “No…” It’s not worth it to lie to him. He knows me better than anyone after three years of marriage and almost four years together.  It doesn’t seem like a long time, but with our lifestyle, four years can be an eternity. Platoons spend four years together and can read each other’s mind in combat. “Are we ready for this?” I whisper, running my thumb over a dark stain on his vest that refuses to come out. Blood most likely; and knowing us, it’s either mine or his.

“I don’t think we’ll ever be ready. We could have been given a year’s notice and still not be ready, Katniss,” he says, his hand covering the dark spot on his vest. “Here…” I stare at my empty hands for a second. “Now that that’s gone…” I look up at him and he just smiles, “You’re going to give me a haircut…”

“They’ll do that when you report tomorrow…”

He shrugs and pulls me into his lap. “It’s one less thing I have to do away from you and Riley tomorrow…” he whispers into my hair. “I just want to spend every possible second with you two…”

“Well, we’re going to have to share you tomorrow.”

I feel him stiffen. “What do you mean?”

“Your Mom, Dad, and your brothers… they’re all coming down to see you off. I think your Mom is going to stay a day or so afterwards to make sure I don’t go crazy.”

He just holds me, not sure what to say for a few minutes before he starts whispering ‘thank you’ over and over again in my ear.

If I can give him his entire family before he goes off to war, I guess I can throw in a haircut, too. He spreads the paint-stained sheet on the bathroom floor while I get a few towels. “I’ve never had a chance to shave anyone,” I tell him, wrapping a towel around his neck. “But how hard can it be to turn you into a jarhead again?”

He takes the electric razor from my hand. “At least put a damn guard on it, woman!”

I smack the back of his head. “The razor I use on my legs doesn’t have a guard. That’s sexism!”

He rolls his eyes in the mirror and hands me the razor again. “You use your razor during the summer and that’s it. Why would Gillette waste the plastic?”

I turn on the razor and, without warning, run the buzzing appliance through his hair. A shower of blond curls falls around his shoulders. “I don’t hear you complaining. And I do too shave, just less than most women.” I take another swipe, followed by another. “Like once a week. Are you complaining?”

“Nah, I just like messing with you…” The usual cut for a male Marine is near bald on the sides with a little on top, which makes it easier for a novice like me to get it right.

“I can take my unused razor to your head. Would you like that?” I ask, but he doesn’t comment. “Your silence is a yes,” I tell him after I’m done. I take off the towel and hug him from behind. “But I’m delivering you in the same state I expect you to be returned.” I kiss his shaved head. “When you work for the FBI, you’re growing out your hair.”

I close my eyes and press my cheek against his, trying to remember every little detail about him; his smell, every freckle, every scar, just to be sure he comes home in the same condition. “I’ll let them know…”

Unbeknownst to Peeta, our tiny apartment is going to be packed tonight since his family is less than a half hour away. “Why are you cleaning up?” he asks as I try to organize his many bags.

“Keeping busy,” I respond, trying to look over his shoulders to see our daughter. The dog knows something’s up, however, and just stares at Peeta’s feet. Phoenix is getting up in years, with little white hairs poking out around her nose and eyebrows. Peeta says she’s distinguished.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. “One second…”

I hurry out of the apartment and downstairs. “Alright, be quiet, he has no idea you’re here,” I tell my in-laws, holding the door open for them.

As they file up the stairs ahead of me, his mother hesitates. “How are you holding up?” she asks, tucking some hair behind my ear.

“Mom, ask me that tomorrow…” I tell her just as one of the boys shouts, ‘Surprise, jarhead!’ “I’m not allowed to be weak right now.”

She hugs me. “Yes, you are. It’s been a difficult couple of years for both of you, and just when things are going right…”

She puts my greatest fear into a string of heartbreaking words. “I’m trying…” I whisper, which is a loaded statement. I’m trying to be a good wife, a good mother, and a good Marine. I've lucked out with Peeta, since he accepts my obvious inadequacies. Riley’s so young that as long as I change, feed and keep her warm, I can’t disappoint her. Even if I can’t manage that, I have Peeta as a back-up. And work? They might be the only ones judging my performance, as I’ll be working out of Quantico for the next few months teaching grunts how to hit a target.

Mom rubs my back and I realize that I’m crying. I’m not allowed to cry, not today. I find myself cradling the cat instead of my daughter for most of the night. Amal doesn’t like it at first, mostly because of all the people, but he learns to deal. Peeta is happy though, being surrounded by his immediate family. We have to get creative while eating dinner, since there isn’t even close to enough space at our table. We end up locking the dog in the bedroom to prevent drool from covering the floor. I learn about all of the embarrassing stories from my husband’s childhood, and for a few short hours, we ignore the pile of bags by the front door.

After everyone leaves and Riley is asleep, I’m too out of it to even dress myself for bed. I manage a t-shirt, and climb in wearing nothing else. The bed shifts as Peeta climbs in next to me. Would he want sex? Is that something normal military couples do? I mean, we had sex before I went to Iraq… but those were very different circumstances. Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind it. He kisses my cheek and holds onto me tight; all I can smell is his soap. “I love you…” he whispers, “So much… I’m going to be counting the seconds until I’m back here in bed, this close to you…”

In these last few hours, I want to be as close to my husband as possible. He pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me as we rock together, his erection sliding in and out of me until both of us are covered in sweat and moaning ‘I love you’ quietly into each other’s ears. Almost immediately after I feel Peeta grow soft inside me, Riley wakes up screaming for us.

“I've got her…” Peeta tells me, pulling on sweats. I nod and pull on my t-shirt, heading into the bathroom to clean myself up.

When I get out, he’s in bed with the baby. “Peeta, she can’t sleep in here…”

“I’m not sleeping tonight. I just can’t let her go…”

I get next to no sleep myself, but Peeta holds me close until the sun comes up. Somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness I hear him whisper, “My girls.”

* * *

_April 2, 2007_

I’m the last one Peeta will say goodbye to. His father tells him to not be stupid, his mother promising she will be here when he lands. His brothers remind him to show Al-Qaeda what happens when you mess with America. I want to correct them and say that he’s helping locals learn how to defend their towns, but it’s just one thing that can be left unsaid.

“Don’t go…” I whisper, tears pricking at my eyes. “Just… don’t go… Please, don’t go…” I beg.

He doesn’t look at me at first. “Katniss…” he hugs me and I rest my ear against his chest, listening to his beating heart.

“Promise me you’ll come back, no matter what. You’ll come back to us, even if you have to chew your own leg off.”

“Especially if I have to chew my own leg off, because if I do all that extra work, I’ll drag myself back to you two…”

“I-I’ll send pictures, every day…”

He sniffs. “You’d better. There’s something for you under the kitchen sink. I had to hide it so you wouldn’t find it.”

I pick my head up off his chest and wipe the tears from my cheeks. “What?”

“I made you something to make the separation easier,” he tells me.

“Is it a time machine?” I ask.

“Not quite…” he kisses my forehead, “Just please be safe. Remember to take your medication every day no matter what and call someone if things are getting too hard. We have an amazing support system, so use it.”

“I will…” I tell him, getting on my toes to kiss him.

“Promise me,” he whispers against my lips.

“I promise… I love you. I know I show as much emotion as a dead fish sometimes, but never forget that I love you.”

“How could I ever?” He steps away and takes my hands in his, his thumb brushing against my wedding band.

Mom hands me Riley just before Peeta has to board the plane. “I know you won’t remember me when I get back, but I love you more than I ever thought possible. From the second I heard you cry, no… when your mother told me she was pregnant…” he sighs. “Being away from you two kills me, but it won’t be forever. I know you’ll forget me, but I’ll come back…” Peeta reaches up to brush a loose tear from my cheek.

“I love you…” I can’t even watch as his plane takes off.

* * *

I barely get off the couch the first two days after Peeta’s deployment. Mom takes care of Riley and makes sure I eat. On the third day, I force myself to get up and shower but get distracted by Mom cleaning the dishes.

_“There’s something for you under the kitchen sink…”_

“’Scuse me,” I say, nearly pushing her out of the way to get to what he’s hidden there. It’s a long, black lockbox with a key in the lock. It’s light, so hauling it to the kitchen table is a breeze.

I turn the key and open the case. Inside I find close to two hundred little white envelopes, each one with a date on it, starting from the date of his deployment to when he’s supposed to come home.

I tear into the first one.

_Dear Katniss,_

_Sleeping without you is next to impossible but I hope you fare better. After my Mom leaves, actually sleep in our bed. The couch is terrible for your back._

_Forever yours,_

_Peeta_

I open the second.

_Dear Katniss,_

_Please remember to eat well. I know when you’re stressed or upset, eating is the first to go. I love you too much and refuse to let you waste away._

_Forever yours,_

_Peeta_

Then the last one I’ll allow myself to open until tomorrow.

_Dear Katniss,_

_Remember the girl I told you about back home? The one I had feelings for? As it turns out, I didn’t need to call her. We’re happily married with a baby girl, living in DC. It’s away from our families, but we’re living comfortably. When I get back, we’re going to buy our first house, though we could stay in the same small apartment for the rest of our lives. I’ll be happy as long as she’s by my side._

_I miss you,_

_Peeta_

Riley and his letters become my only reasons for waking up every morning.

Mom’s help lessens a little bit each day. She watches the baby as I go to work, leaving me to my own devices. She will still cook for me, though, which I appreciate.

“How are you doing?” she asks as I feed Riley.

“I’ve been better, I guess…” I sigh and look over my shoulder. Phoenix’s new game is sitting at the door, waiting for Daddy to come home until she falls asleep. “I’m thinking the dog needs some Zoloft, though.”

“Sometimes you sit so still that it makes me nervous. Before the wedding when you were sick, you would be so still.”

I shrug, “It’s shaking off the war zone. If you’re not still, you can give away your location or mess up a shot. Old habits die hard.” The dog finally gives up and moves to the couch, resting her head on my mother-in-law’s thigh.

“I remember when Peeta brought her home. Damned thing was covered in fleas and full of worms. She was from a puppy mill bust and no one wanted her, so the shelter was going to put her down. Peeta nursed her back to health, refusing to give up on her no matter what. I knew she was better the second she started stealing things from the counter.”

“Yeah, she still tries that when she thinks we aren’t looking. Old girl’s still got some spunk in her.” For some reason, talking about the dog’s health is a good escape. “We’re lucking out. Barely any signs of arthritis, vet says she’s the healthiest dog he’s seen in years, and she’s what, seven? Eight?”

“Eight, I think…” She rubs just under the dog’s armpit, a spot that makes her back leg go crazy and a content groan comes from deep within her. “Oh, how the time flies. Before we know it, it’ll be Baby’s First Christmas…”

“I hope you’re right…” I whisper.

* * *

_May 2007_

I line up empty casings on the table from the smallest to largest. “Alright, which one of these is the most lethal?”

It’s kind of a trick question. They can all kill, but some will leave you hopeless while others would bring in medics and other potential targets.

“The fifty cal,” a woman close to the back says confidently.

I nod. “Yeah, these are nasty, especially the hollow point ones. Say goodbye to whatever part of your body gets hit by one of these… but no.” I pick up the .22 caliber casing. “These babies are getting more and more of our men and women every day. Yes, there are the IED’s, VBED’s and every other explosive and incendiary device out there… but unless one of these pierces their aorta, gets them in the heart, or paints the sidewalk with their brain, they’re going to survive the initial gunshot.” I look down at the brass casing. It’s cold in my hand so I squeeze it, but all that does is give me a feeling of dread. “One of these can take out five or so of us indirectly.” My stomach flips a little, but I shake it off. I have eighteen year olds in the room that need to be instructed. I’ve been taking baby steps to get my certification, which will allow me to train people to become snipers. I would be the first woman doing the job.

There’s something oddly relaxing about spending my days on the range. It’s never quiet – a blissful escape from the near constant silence at home.


	46. Adjusting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's Thanksgiving was awesome. I've had this in my inbox for a bit, but I was playing a bit of the WoW.
> 
> Thank you Chelzie for fixing my numerous errors, and listening to me debate whether or not I should include Part 4, and my vague referencing on who was going to die, but not the big deaths, because those are still mine... and up in the air... Because let's face it, I've been toying with one since like chapter 20.

I’m really glad no one can see in the apartment some nights as I dance with a confused Riley or a rambunctious Phoenix to entertain myself. Riley likes the movement as I spin with her in my arms to  _Carry On Wayward Son_  by Kansas. When I do this with Phoenix, she just thinks we’re playing and starts to nibble at my hands. Every few minutes I check the clock, now that Peeta and I have a schedule. If he’s awake before I leave, we’ll Skype before work and he has to report for his shift, and we try to get something in before we go to bed. The before bed part has been difficult, as I seem to be eating dinner in Virginia with the Abernathy’s three or four nights a week. Even still, I make sure to mail him pictures and handwritten letters daily. There’s a week or so delay, but he doesn’t mind.

Today is different, though. We’re making time for each other no matter what. “Happy Birthday,” he greets as I set down Riley’s bottle.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Apparently the new thing instead of a phone call is to write ‘Happy Birthday’ on someone’s Facebook wall.”

Peeta chuckles. “At least you aren’t getting stuck on the phone with anyone.”

He’s right. For my last birthday, at least I was in Iraq where the only people I could talk to were people I wanted to talk to. We’ve come a long way as a couple since then. “Baby?” Peeta snaps me back to reality, “Are you okay?”

I nod. “I was just thinking about my last birthday. It’s no big deal,” I say, shifting Riley so she’s sitting and burp her before she gets fussy. “How’s Al-Anbar?”

“We’re coming out of the wet season, so I’m finally chiseling the mud off my boots. Though with the dry season coming, I’m getting ready for the oven like temperatures.”

Riley burps and some spit-up runs down her chin. “At least you’re not in a tent. All I had was a cot in a tent and I was pregnant with this critter.” Riley looks up every so often at hearing Peeta talk, but is more focused on her own feet.

Peeta smiles sadly at our daughter. “Look at how big she’s getting.”

“Just under thirteen pounds last time we were at grocery store... then confirmed at the doctor’s. She does NOT like needles.”

“Did you cry when they gave her a shot this time?”

“No…” I lie. The first time we took Riley to the pediatrician, I hid crying behind Peeta while they gave her every type of inoculation imaginable. “I mean, yes… more than she did.”

“I’m sorry, love…” Talking about the baby dominates our conversation as it seems to always do until I step away for a few minutes to put her to bed. Peeta’s face is serious when I get back. With the distracting product of our love sound asleep, he can focus on everything he’s worried about without missing anything.

“Are you eating?” he asks first and I nod. “Every day?”

“Yes, Peeta, every day, three times a day. You see me eat every morning, Haymitch drags me to lunch every day, and if I’m not at the Abernathy’s for dinner, I’m over at Cinna’s,” I tell him as gently as possible, still a little annoyed that he doesn’t think I can care for myself. “And in a few weeks, I’ll have Prim here… to  _babysit_  me.”

He frowns. “Katniss, I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay. I’m allowed to be worried or protective. We’re married and I’m halfway around the world.” I just sigh and try to smile. Nothing I say will stop his worrying. I’m his wife, battered and abused by war, who is afraid of her own shadow some mornings. If not for expensive psychiatric drugs and hours of therapy, I’d probably end up as one of the unlucky ones who couldn’t handle what he or she did simply following orders. If not for Peeta, I wouldn’t be seeing my 26th birthday. I would be another white grave stone and a cautionary tale.

“Katniss!” This is the worst way to reassure Peeta that I’m doing fine; getting lost in my own mind can be dangerous.

My eyes start to sting. “I miss you so much,” I confess, “Every noise at night scares me. I have nightmares every night. I can’t look at any of the pictures of us because I just end up missing you more. But I’m trying. The only thing that gets me out of bed each morning is the dog begging for food or Riley fussing. I just want it to be October,” I sob, pulling my knees up so I can hug myself.

“I love you. More than anything, Katniss. We’ve made it through one month… there’s only five to go.” I make myself small but hold onto his words, letting them keep me from the darker places in my mind. Peeta is as safe as he can be, and we’ll be reunited in five months. “Katniss…” he says my name with a sing-song tone. “Please smile. I can’t stand that you’re sad on your birthday.” I hear the door to his room open.

“Hey, you’re not busy, are you?” a voice asks.

“A little, yeah. Trying to talk to my wife. You still have shoe polish on your face. Scrub up, you fucking disgrace.” There isn’t even a hint of anger in Peeta’s voice. A man walks across the camera in a green shirt and fatigue pants, streaks of black on his cheeks and jaw.

“You put it there, maybe you should wash it off.” My chest tightens. He’s the spitting image of Thresh, but maybe two years younger. “Pictures do not do you justice, ma’am.”

I search his face, trying to find something to break the connection between him and Thresh. I smell the lethal phosphorous, burning everything it touches.

“You need to leave, now. Get what you need and get out,” I hear Peeta tell the man in his authoritative voice.

“Katniss, tell me what’s going on in your head.”

“The night in Iraq… when everything got really bad. He looks just like Thresh; I can just see his body… I can smell-“

“We should go on vacation when I get back. You, me, Riley… wherever we want to go,” he says. “Or start house hunting. I think we need a big backyard. Gale and Johanna are having a kid and let’s face it, the way Annie and Finnick are, they’re going to have a baseball team before twenty ten…”

His goal is to distract me, to pull me out of the darkness. It works perfectly. “I want it to be in Virginia, so we’re close to the Abernathy’s.”

“But not too close, then it’ll be like when we were first married and we all lived in one big house because there was always someone coming or going.”

“Oh, there was coming all right…” I miss our honeymoon phase, right when my mind started getting less fucked up and all we wanted to do was have sex.

“That was a terrible joke, Mrs. Mellark.”

My jaw drops. “ _Misses?_ ” I gasp, “I did not work my ass off in the frozen swamp so I could be called  _Misses_  outside of the bedroom.”

Peeta rolls his eyes and puts his hands behind the bed. “Well, I’m in my bedroom… So I’ll call you what I want, Kitty.”

“Oh, you are so lucky…” I start to threaten, “When you get back, we’re not having sex for months. That was a low blow, sir…”

Peeta shrugs. “That’s okay, there’s always my hand while I’m in the shower.”

And like that, the darkness is gone for now, banished to a corner of my mind by the strongest anti-depressant I know, my husband.

We talk about everything and nothing at the same time. Planning our budget for the house we’re going to buy, why the Chinese take-out place four blocks away is better than the one down the street. Peeta’s roommate comes back in and goes to sleep, but doesn’t tell Peeta to shut up or get offline.

Riley wakes up twice, once because she was wet and another because she was hungry. “You should go to bed, dear,” I tell Peeta while burping Riley. “I have it covered on the homefront, you keep the front lines safe and we’ll reconvene at oh seven hundred.”

“Sounds like a date, but…” He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out the first picture I sent him. It was his mother’s idea to put Riley in the roaster pan in the oven. “This is not funny.”

“Now say it like you mean it!” Unfortunately, Riley is wide awake and babbling.

I kiss the top of her head. “Okay, little miss, time to say goodnight to Daddy.” She squeals in response. I learned early on that if I get her attention I can direct it to the computer screen. I snap my fingers in front of her face, watching in the screen as her blue eyes find my fingers and then Peeta’s face.

I make her wave before pressing my lips to my fingers and touching them to the screen. Peeta does the same, the closest thing we’ll get to a kiss for months. “I love you,” he tells me, “Both of you.”

“And we love you. Be safe.”

“I always am.”

I can’t say that I’m adjusting well to Peeta’s absence. When I cook, I cook too much food. I pick up his body wash and shampoo at the store thinking he needs some. I usually buy it anyway and ship it to him because that’s one thing you don’t want to go a day without in the desert. His pillow no longer smells like him even if I spray his cologne on it.

Before Peeta left, I put in for 72 hours of leave to see Prim’s college graduation and crossed my fingers. Unfortunately, my extended maternity leave made it impossible for the higher-ups to even consider the request, which put me off for about a week. My letter from Peeta on the thirteenth came with a blank card with tulips on the cover.

_Happy Mother’s Day! I should be cooking you breakfast in bed and giving you the day off. Instead, I’m in the desert probably shaking sand out of my boots (and pants, and vest and underwear). I love you maybe more than the day we were married back in 2004. You’ve given me everything, your love, your heart, your trust, but most of all, our daughter. She’s almost six months old and I’m missing so much. This day is yours and you should be relaxing. Hopefully you can spend it on the couch or at the park with our girl._

_Plus que ma propre vie._

He doesn’t sign this letter and sends me on a scavenger hunt to find out what he said. “More than my own life…” I read. It’s beautiful, but fills me full of dread.

* * *

_June 2007_

The worst part about this separation has to be the women at Riley’s daycare. It’s close to the base, meaning most of these kids’ Moms or Dads are stationed with me, and the military spouses always seem to have a mouth full of ‘woe is me.’ Not all of them are like that, though, but the few who are tend to be the loudest.

The worst of them all must be the ex-Mrs. Lieutenant Grayson. I say ex because her husband Brutus was ‘fucking everything with a cunt’ during his tour of duty. She made it her mission to tell me all about it when she noticed Peeta and I weren’t picking Riley up together. Her purpose was to tell me that Peeta was going to stray because he already got everything he could out of me.

I tried to humor her by listening to what she had to say, but as the summer heat kicks in and my layers of clothes stay the same, I'm ready to double tap right into her temple. It’s already the end of June, and Riley is six months old already. When we Skype, the dark circles under Peeta’s eyes are gone, meaning that he’s somehow managing to get enough sleep to function well.

“And sure enough, a month before he was going to come home, I got a letter saying he'd met a young Sergeant in Afghanistan and they were going to move in together because she  _understood_  him better.” She only picks about one afternoon a week to vent about her ex-husband. She's a lawyer for some big firm in the city and apparently took him and his bank account to the cleaners. “I’d watch that husband of yours, you know. I was watching the both of you… the way he looks at every woman in the room.”

“You do realize my husband was a POW and is still a little iffy on trusting crowds of strangers?”

She snorts and drags her three-year-old along and I grab her arm. “Excuse me, do you have something to say to me that doesn’t involve your failed marriage? My husband loves me, and our daughter,” I pause to lift up Riley’s car seat, “He’s a good man, and wouldn’t even consider straying, and don’t you dare tell me I don’t know that because I know my husband. Now, it’s hot, I just had to drive from Quantico in rush-hour traffic to get the only bit of my husband I have to hold while he’s at war, and you’re trying to argue his loyalty. You honestly make me sick.”

I let go of her arm when a passing ambulance startles the baby and she starts screaming. “Now I have to go. I have to help my sister move in the absence of her Marine fiancé; I’m sure you have something to say about this, though.” I walk away from her before I do something stupid like pull the Glock out of my holster.

I’ve been complaining about this woman to Prim for weeks, and relay today’s confrontation as we rearrange furniture in her apartment, which is about ten minutes from Peeta’s and mine. “At least you didn’t pull out your gun. That stuff is okay in Bumblefuck, Pennsylvania, but I feel like they frown upon that in DC.”

We spend about an hour getting the couches and chairs just right. “How does it feel? Your first place together…”

“Amazing. I just wish Rory could actually be here to put away his own damned clothes and move this heavy couch.”

“Aw, come on, we have muscle to spare. Just be thankful the baby is still asleep.”

“I’m just thankful to be back in the city. The food, the museums,” an ambulance drives by, “The fact that the entire city has to die at the same time.”

We enjoy the warm evening at the same bistro we ate at when Peeta and I were first in DC. “Who’d’ve thunk it?” she asks, chewing on the lemon from her iced tea. “We’d be here four years later; me months away from med school, and you with a baby.”

I hold Riley on my lap, who’s managed to get a hold of the lavender headband Cinna and Portia gave her. It’s soaked with drool, but she’s quiet and occasionally pulls at my braid from her seat in my lap. “The whole family had money on you having a baby first. Out of all the grandkids, you,” I tell her.

“Hey, Gale and Johanna are catching up. Have you talked to them?”

“Johanna and I Skyped a few days ago. She’s huge.”

Prim nods. “She is! Apparently, she was so convinced she was having twins… nope, just the one little nugget.” She drops the peel into her empty water glass. “When do you have to be up tomorrow?”

“I’m off, happy Friday,” I say and pick up my glass of white wine, toasting my freedom. “And the later I keep this one up,” I bounce my knee a little, “The better she’ll sleep.”

“Don’t you want to go and talk to your husband? Maybe put the baby to bed and… you know.”

I cock my head a little. “He’s off the wire for a few days, and do I know what?”

“You take off your pants, talk dirty to each other…”

I cover Riley’s ears, wanting to cover my own. “Prim! No!”

She rolls her eyes. “You mean you haven’t…”

“No!” I shriek. People are staring, but my head is still spinning.

Prim puts her hands up defensively. “Okay, okay… but seriously. You should give him  _something_ … he’s over there fighting for freedom, so reward him.”

I groan. “But my body is still kind of a danger zone! I have stretch marks, my ass is still huge, and I haven’t even seen what the situation is down there, but her big head tore things and-“

“Gross, Katniss.  You didn’t use cocoa butter?”

I hold Riley by the armpits and make her face me. “The only cocoa Mommy was concerned with when she was pregnant was chocolate milkshakes and your Daddy would get them whenever I pouted enough.” I kiss her nose.

After dinner, we lazily wander around by the reflecting pool. The movement puts Riley to sleep in her stroller, meaning I’ll probably have a rough night. “Have you been to see Dad lately?” she asks as I pull the hood of the seat up and drape a blanket over it to protect Riley’s eyes from the sunset.

“Haven’t found the courage to bring the baby there yet. I was going to drag Peeta’s Mom there so she could watch the baby… but after Peeta left, I just kind of stopped for a few days.”

Prim grimaces. “You’re better now, right?” she asks.

I just shrug. “It’s a day-to-day thing, honestly.”

“Want to go tomorrow? You know how bad I am at finding his headstone…”

I run my fingers through my hair. “Sure, though if I have an issue, you might have to carry me and the baby out.” She chuckles, but I’m not joking. I’ve been putting off thinking about how my father will never know his granddaughter; that to Riley, he’ll only be a man in a few pictures and some stories she hears about around the holidays. When I was young, he was a cautionary tale, a path I should have avoided. But naturally, I ignored the warnings from my family and it's given me everything in the world I love the most.

“-If I played my cards right…” I blink, coming to again. “Think that’s a good idea?”

I have no idea what she’s talking about or how long I was zoned out. “Yeah, sure. Do it. Whatever you think is right.”

Prim blinks a few times and nods. “Okay…” We sit in silence for a few seconds. Either I can admit that I just went blank for who knows how long or play along. Instead, Prim changes the subject. “We haven’t even started planning the wedding. Maybe a winter wedding? I could get a long-sleeved dress and everything… but then we’re fighting the weather.”

“You could do mid-October. Peeta has to be back stateside by the fourth, he EAS’s. But give me like a week to get him a suit since he can’t wear his blues anymore.”

“You aren’t either because you’re my maid of honor and you’re wearing a dress. A dress that I’m picking out, but it’ll be different from the other bridesmaids.”

“Can’t I be  _really_  different and dress in my blues?” I ask hopefully.

“No! You’ll wear a dress and like it.”

“I won’t like it. You can keep telling yourself that, but I won’t like it.”

“Fine, you’ll wear a dress and not complain about it before, during, or after the wedding and reception or in my presence.”

I hold out one arm and pull Prim close. “You have a deal. Just don’t set the date too close to November if you’re going to listen to me, because I doubt Johanna will be able to fit that stomach in anything but a loose fitting sheet.”

“Oh my God! I didn’t even think of that…”

Prim ends up spending the night at my place. She’s not ready to spend a night in the place that’s supposed to be hers and Rory’s alone. We have a confusing moment figuring out the sleeping arrangements. “It’s a queen, we can share it. We’ve shared a bed before.”

“Yeah, when you were fourteen and I still thought boys had cooties.”

“Boys do have cooties, they make babies with them.”

“No, it’s just weird. You and Peeta  _fuck_  in this bed.”

“And the shower, and the couch, and the kitchen table, and the kitchen… the car once… and the coffee table. We’ve been here for a few years. If it can support any kind of weight, we’ve done it on it.”

We end up sleeping on opposite sides of the bed with the dog laying between us. For the first time since Peeta left, the bed feels right. It was made for two people, a dog that wants to be cuddled, and a cat that likes to lie at our heads. Our bed tends to be a zoo, but it’s our zoo.


	47. The Long Lonely Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a lot of ground gets covered in this chapter... Because I wanted to. Yeah. I could only have Katniss pining for Peeta for so many chapters before you all gutted me.
> 
> In case you missed it I wrote this: http://archiveofourown.org/works/596670. It contains spoilers and feels. Sad feels. It has to do with Semper Fidelis, though. :D
> 
> Thank you Chelzie for making it possible for me to post not one but TWO fics in one night. Wooooo!

_June 2007_

Riley doesn’t like being in the grass, not one bit. She keeps kicking off her shoes and fusses when a ladybug crawls across her hand. “Do you ever wonder if we put the right guy in the ground all those years ago?” I ask Prim, feeding Riley a bottle as we sit at the foot of our father’s grave.

“What, and Dad’s off somewhere living a different life?”

I nod and shift the baby a little. The only clean shirt I have is a sky blue halter I couldn’t wear a bra with, but the sun is warm on my back. We’re in that good part of the Maryland summer where it’s not a hot, humid fog and actually nice. “Yeah…”

Prim snorts, “Yeah, because that’s a lot more cheerful. That Dad just up and left us to freeze and starve. Do you think at all when you talk?”

I hug Riley to me. “Yeah, I just live with a man who was captured and can’t even speak about what happened to him… and he got out. I mean, his femur was shattered and he almost lost his leg from an infection. Do you know that Peeta can’t jumpstart our cars? The battery for mine died in February and when he went to get the cables out of his SUV, he threw them to the ground like they were a copperhead. I don’t know, after living with that… my PTSD, along with Peeta’s... I mean, let’s face it, he’s in the same boat as I am. It’s just nicer to think that he’s somewhere out there…”

“Maybe…” she sighs, pulling out a clump of grass. “Are you walking me down the aisle?” she asks after a few minutes.

“As long as you don’t make me wear an ugly dress…”

Prim looks up at me and smiles, “Never.”

I could sit here all day, but I have an appointment.

I wince as the needle bites into my skin. I feel it draw the outline on my shoulder. When I was twenty-one and drunk, I thought getting a sniper slogan on my shoulder was a good idea for a responsible adult. Six years later, I regret the decision. Prim is cringing the entire time as I lay on my stomach on the black leather table.

It’s a chore to cover the lettering, but thankfully, my drunk ass somehow knew to get the original small. “So, what do you do for a living?” the artist, a rather large man called Slim, asks. According to some locals and the guys on base, he’s the best.

“Can’t you guess?” I ask, watching Prim bounce her niece on her knee.

The gun stops for a second and I feel him wipe my shoulder. “Something dangerous, judging by the scars and shit.”

“I was… well, I technically still  _am_  a sniper for the Marine Corps, but I decided to be an overachiever and go for officer. So now I’m a pencil pusher stateside, babysitter overseas.”

“Damn girl, little thing like you?”

“Yep.”

“You should have seen her when she was pregnant, nothing little about that…”

I groan. “Thanks, Prim, and my ass is still huge, thank you very much.”

Slim snorts, but goes back to work. Even with the constant bite of the needle, I almost find myself dozing off to the buzz of the tattoo gun. Prim has to get up twice to change Riley, but doesn’t complain. She’s been a godsend since moving here. Available at all hours to listen to my whining, willing to go jogging with me, and so excited to be back in DC that she drags me and the baby to every museum and monument she didn’t get to see before.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get Riley’s name on you somewhere…”

“Peeta wrote her name out in Arabic in one of his letters. I’d get that, but you know, this is America,” I yawn, the position making me tired. “Plus, Peeta already called dibs.” The needle gets closer to the tip of my shoulder blade, and I can feel it vibrate in my bone.

“You’ll match, duh!” I roll my eyes. I don’t know how long he works for, but it’s enough to necessitate two smoke breaks, a bathroom break or two, and one ‘Okay, that hurts’ break out of me.

“Where’s he getting his?” Prim asks as Slim works on the more labor intensive part of the tattoo, the shading. This is hopefully where his real talent will shine through.

“His chest, I think? Again, I can’t really copy him because let’s be honest, that’s one of those danger zones on women.”

“I don’t know…” Slim chimes in. “I touched up a tree of life tattoo on a sixty-seven year old woman’s chest a few weeks ago. Age seemed to kind of help it.”

“How old was she when she got it?” I ask, wincing a little.

“I think she said she got it during the sixties, some big hippie,” he chuckles, wiping my shoulder again before going back to work. Soon enough he’s done and I sit up to admire his work.

“Wow…” I gasp. I want to touch it, but I can’t. I want to feel the intricate shading of the wings or the smooth lines of the tail feathers. The black and grey phoenix on my shoulder is a perfect cover up. Just like our dog who shares the same name, I’ve risen from the ashes over and over again.

The feathers from its wings end just above my shoulders and neck so I can still hide it under my uniform. The long tail feathers wrap around, just barely caressing the top and underside of my breast. I very lightly touch the spot where the bird is holding onto one of its tail feathers in its mouth.

“We could use more men with a steady hand like you…” I tell Slim as he tapes gauze on my shoulder.

The man shrugs. “Not my cup of tea, little lady; but keep fighting the good fight.”

* * *

_July 2007_

Peeta looks exhausted the next time I talk to him. The Humvee in front of his was torn apart by an IED. He wasn’t close with anyone who died, but he was in the seat that got hit the hardest.

“It could have been me…” he laments, running his hands over his head. “I was this close, Katniss!” He holds his hands up and I see that they’re dirty with little nicks and blisters. He looks different from when I last saw him, far more broken. I would trade places with him in a heartbeat if I could.

Everything Peeta says to me is short and clipped, as if being on Skype is a chore for him. He’s also developed a temper I’ve never seen before. When I open up his letters every morning, his words are full of love and kindness. When I have Riley on the camera, he looks happy. It’s not until we're alone that he has this vacant, bored look on his face. He barely talks and when he does, the most he’ll say at once is three words unless absolutely necessary.

“Peeta, what’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he grumbles, shuffling through papers. “Just nothing.”

I want to shrink back and give up, letting him do his thing while I do mine. It seems like the easiest course of action, but that’s exactly how we ended up where we did last year. “Peeta, you’re thousands of miles away from me physically, don’t make it emotionally as well.  _Please,_ ” I beg, “Talk to me…”

“You just have it so easy,” he snaps. “What do you have to worry about? You have it so easy right now.”

My blood runs cold and I know I need to escape before I say something that will ruin all the progress we’ve made. I know I have it easier, but he doesn’t even seem to acknowledge that I’m struggling day in and day out, too. I don’t know if it’s selfish, but I just sigh, “Goodbye, Peeta,” and hang up before he can say anything else. I log off and close the lid to my computer.

I have no idea who to call, but I need someone. Rory has just gotten back to town and I don’t want to bother Prim, so I call Haymitch. “You’d better have a good reason for calling me at one in the morning, Sweetheart.”

I take a deep breath. “I don’t know,” my voice is crackly, “I think I just overreacted with Peeta…”

He sighs and I hear the thumping of his footsteps. “What did you do?” he asks.

“He’s been… weird for the last couple of weeks. He snapped at me and I just told him goodbye and left him hanging.”

“Weird... how so?”

I flop down on the couch. “Short, cold, detached. I just want him home, Haymitch. They cleared him mentally, but…”

“Being over there is bringing a whole boatload of bullshit to the surface?”

I nod and wipe my eyes while my shoulder starts itching from the tattoo. “What if he comes back and we can’t get him back to normal? He’s happy to see the baby, but he doesn’t want to see or hear me.”

Haymitch yawns loudly. “Keep sending him pictures of mini-you, but make sure you aren’t in them. Does he call you or do you call him?”

“Either or.”

“Let him call you, Katniss. Make yourself available, but let him come to you.” After I get off the phone with him, I stay on the couch wondering if I’m feeling even half of what he was when I walked out.

* * *

_August 2007_

I still mail letters to Peeta every day, but usually save up a stack of his letters before opening them. It’s easier for the hurt to come all at once rather than slowly throughout the week.

I remind myself that he loves me, he will always love me, and that nothing will stop him from loving me. I leave my computer open and logged into Skype 24/7, but he never even tries to message me. I send him pictures of Riley sitting up on her own, standing up while holding onto the couch, and her on her hands and knees rocking like she wants to crawl.

I even try to get her to say Dad in some sense of the word just to cheer him up. She’s always distracted by the dog chewing on her bone, or the cat bathing himself. “We’ll try tomorrow…” I sigh as I go to make dinner for myself. I feed the baby after I eat just to top her off before putting her in her jogging stroller and putting the leash on the dog. At first, I think Phoenix’s old bones will say when first, but it turns out to be me. We make it to the park Peeta and I would often walk to when I was pregnant. There are kids still playing here even though the sun is setting; mothers and fathers pushing their children on swings.

I remember one night in late fall when Peeta started to become more protective over me than normal when he just pushed me back and forth with his hands on my back. I make my way to a nearby tree and lie down underneath with Riley laying on my chest and the dog curled up at my side.

“It’s just a rough patch…” I tell them. “We’ll get past it.”

After a while, I force myself back home and much to my surprise, my computer is pinging with an incoming call.

I stare at the window for a second, my cursor flirting with the decline button.  _Which Peeta is going to be on the other end?_

I hit answer anyway. “Hey, stranger,” he says weakly.

I sit in my chair with the baby on my lap. She starts grabbing for everything and babbling. “Hey…” I try not to look at his face, but he looks worse than before. Scraggily hair, unshaven for the day or weekend, it’s always been hard to tell with him. He has dark circles under his eyes.

Riley lets out an earsplitting squeal when she sees his face, “Dadadadada!” and grabs for the computer.

Just that little moment seems to take weeks of stress away from his face. The creases on his forehead from worry lessen, his eyes seem less distant, and he breaks.

Peeta puts his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking from his sobs. “I’m so tired, Katniss. I’m just so tired.”

“I know, I know…  Just talk to me…”

“And I took it out on you… I’m just so tired. I had to-“ he goes silent for a moment before continuing, “I guess one of the people we’re training snapped; he had an AK aimed at one of my guys. I had no choice, Katniss. He got off two shots before I got him down.”

“Shh… Peeta, you don’t have to tell me this.”

“I need to, I can’t tell anyone else. I just couldn’t stop thinking of that day in Baghdad when I couldn’t protect everyone. When we were outnumbered and outgunned…” For a second I think he’s going to open up about his captivity, but he goes silent.

“It’s almost October, hun. They can’t keep you any longer than that because your contract will be up. It’s almost here, baby… you’re almost home.”

There’s barely over a month before he’ll be back here, as I’m quickly running out of letters. “And when you get back, it’ll be Riley’s first Halloween and we can pick out her costume together. And we can poke fun at Johanna because she’s  _huge_.”

He smiles. It’s not as bright as usual, but it’s still a smile. “I can’t wait for you to be in bed with me to make the nightmares go away…”

“What are they about?” I ask, hoping he’ll still be open enough to tell me.

“The explosion, the one that could have very well killed me… but it gets you instead and it’s always too much. It’s like you’re still there, but there’s nothing they can do for you but wait for you to die… and I can’t. I  _can’t_  see you die, but it happens every night when I close my eyes.”

“I’m here, Peeta. I’m in America with Riley. We’re safe and sound. Plus, we have a big scary guard dog to protect us.”

I get another weak smile. “Yeah, big scary guard dog who is afraid of the vacuum.”

“To be fair, so is Riley.”

He wipes tears from his eyes again. He's supposed to be my rock, my fearless husband who stays strong when I'm weak. It sucks when those roles suddenly get reversed. “I love you, babe, and I’m sorry…”

“I love you, too, and it’s okay. But remember, Riley and I are here, we’re safe… And we’re waiting for you.”

* * *

_September 2007_

My conversations with Peeta become less and less depressing as the days go by. He still has nightmares about my death, but we’ve started bringing our computers to bed. I’ve turned off the air conditioning, but one night it gets so warm, I find myself stripping on camera. “Holy fuck…” Peeta groans when I’m in only a tank top. I try to keep him from seeing my shoulder.

His hungry gaze puts me in a playful, sex deprived mood. “What? Is there a stain on my shirt?”

He shakes his head no. “You’re just… holy fuck. You should take the shirt off...” I smile and sit up on my knees. My cheeks grow hot knowing he can see between my legs. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but still. I slowly pull at the hem until I pull the flimsy article of clothing over my head.

I rub my breasts, squeezing them softly and letting out a moan. “Riley should have a sleepover when I get back,” he says cheekily. “We aren’t getting out of bed until you’re pregnant with the next one.”

I stick my tongue out. “No, you’re going to see her and forget all about me.”

“God, how could I ever… you should touch yourself…” I don’t hesitate to spread my legs and lick my index and middle fingers. He keeps his head propped up on his fist, but his top arm moves with slow, even strokes.

I moan again, wishing his hand was my mouth. I stick my fingers inside of me, thrusting over and over as a thin coat of sweat covers my skin. I pull away to work on actually getting myself off, Peeta’s eyes watching my every move. I’m louder than normal. I want to make sure he hears every pant, every moan, every time I whimper his name, wishing _he_ was making me come, not my hand.

I tell him over and over that I wish my hand was his hand, or his mouth, or his cock. I want him to remember me wild with desire for him and only him; how I moan his name so loud when I come that it’s the last thing he thinks about when he sleeps. I want him to dream about me beneath him, full of life and want.

Once my body settles, I collapse onto my side and pull up the sheet. He’s wiping his hand on a sock; he's got rosy cheeks and is breathing heavy, but looks happy and at ease.

“I love you…” I remind him.

“And I love you,” he murmurs. I smile and pull the sheet up closer to my neck. “Can we sleep like this?” he asks.

“Just don’t snore in my ear,” I tell him as he rolls onto his back and laughs.

“Sure thing, baby…” I want to use him as a pillow, but settle for my own. It’s the best night of sleep I’ve gotten in a while and Peeta doesn’t wake up with any nightmares, though my five am alarm wakes him up.

I watch him paw for his alarm clock, still drunk from sleep. “Baby…” I coo.

He snaps up, confused before realizes where he still is. “I thought I was at home…” he sighs.

I frown. “I’m sorry, but if you wait a few minutes you can watch me feed the baby… I mean, it’s not-“

“Do it. I’m going to run to the latrine, I’ll be right back.”

We both seem to scramble to make ourselves decent before running to our separate goals. Riley is content in her crib, chewing on her hand. Thankfully, she only has a wet diaper, which I change while warming her bottle.

He’s back before me and watches as I sit cross-legged on the bed while Riley tries to grab the bottle. “It’s little things like that…” he sighs, “I can’t wait to do that.”

She scratches me with one of her fingernails. “Yeah, I don’t know who has sharper nails, Amal or Riley,” I tell him, noticing her clawing for the bottle has drawn blood. When she drains the bottle, I sit her on my knee and pat her back.

“Alright,” he tells me, “I have to get ready. You be good today, both of you.”

“See you soon, my love.”

“Twenty-nine days, but who’s counting?” I kiss my fingers and press them to the screen. He does the same and our marathon call is over. For the first time in what seems like ages, I head into work not pissed off.

We keep up the routine more and more as the weeks go by. We call each other when he doesn’t have the first shift, work ourselves to a lonely orgasm that only makes us want the other more, and sleep with our computers open. Peeta doesn’t have a nightmare for the rest of September. 


	48. Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end of Part Three!
> 
> Thank you as always, Chelzie. We are not ready for Part Four.

_October 2007_

“Dismissed!” It’s amazing how one word lifts the heavy stones of anxiety off my chest.

My mother-in-law keeps Riley in her arms, knowing I can’t be held responsible for how I react. Though I feel free, I also feel like my family is safe. I can’t move, I won’t move. Then someone nudges me and I’m off running for my husband.

His name is barely off my lips before I launch myself at him; my arms and legs wrap around his body, forcing Peeta to support my weight as I latch onto him for dear life. He smells just like I remember, sweet but still musky, with that general man odor from the strong deodorant. “You’re here… you’re really here. You’re really, really here…” I choke out.

I reach up as his hands cup my backside to keep me up and scratch at the nape of his neck. “Are you… is this a dream?” he whispers in my ear. I slide off of him to look into his eyes, which are crystal blue and full of life. He’s home, he’s safe.

“This is _real_ , Peeta,” I tell him. He nods slowly as my heart threatens to beat out of my ribcage. His lips are immediately on mine, sweet but still chapped from the dry desert. His fingers work their way into my hair, pulling it out of the lazy ponytail I put it in. He tugs a little, just checking whether it’s real or his imagination. His tongue shamelessly slips into my mouth, but I pull away suddenly. “Wait…” I whisper, “Later – your whole family is here, and Riley, too. I can’t hog you… yet.”

I pull him back to where his family is gawking at our spectacle. His brothers are the first to pounce on him, telling him about how there’s going to be a wedding in the spring, and a baby in March out of the oldest and middle Mellark boys. They call him a jarhead and when Peeta pushes up his sleeves, revealing his tan hands and still pale arms, they ask me when we’re going to Hawaii to get the rest of him golden brown like my skin.

Peeta’s father sheds a tear which, for the normally stoic man, is a shock to us all. Finally, he embraces his mother, who whispers something in his ear before passing him our daughter.

She looks nervous and uncomfortable at first, but then takes two fistfuls of his shirt to lean back and study her father’s face. “Riley, I know you don’t really remember me… but I’m your Dad. And I’m never leaving you again!” Just the sound of his voice gets the cogs in her head going. The anxious look is suddenly gone and she dives straight into his chest, chewing on his shirt collar. He holds out one arm and pulls me in. We’re together again, all three of us, a family.

Peeta changes into jeans and a button up while I change Riley’s diaper in a family bathroom. “So, do you work in the morning?” he asks, buttoning his shirt.

“I go back on Monday. Haymitch couldn’t get me my sister’s college graduation, so by God, I’m taking this time to spend with you and Riley…”

We enjoy a crowded dinner in the apartment. The growing Mellark clan now includes a heavily pregnant Tiffany, and surprisingly enough, Madge Undersee, with a ring on her finger and a small bump under her shirt. Peeta does everything for Riley; he never lets her go or out of his sight for a second. Finally, the apartment is empty, the dishes are clean and Peeta is lying with his head in my lap, our drowsy daughter on his chest. “I can’t believe she already has teeth,” he whispers while the dog keeps watch. He sits the baby on his stomach; she stays up on her own, but the uneven surface sends her backwards so he props her up with his knees.

“You should see how fat her legs are. They’re chubby stumps with rolls on top of rolls.”

Peeta looks up at me while I pet the fuzz on his head. “She’s perfect, like her mother.”

I roll my eyes. “You mean riddled with anxiety, covered in scars and afraid of popping balloons and fireworks?”

“No, loving. Selfless. Loyal.”

Phoenix takes this as her cue to turn around and lick at his face. “You just described the dog, and she’s thankful… but it’s this little one’s bedtime…”

Peeta goes to put the half-asleep Riley in her crib while I spring into action. I know nothing about what overpriced lacy thing is sexy, and even less about what my husband thinks is sexy. We didn’t do the lingerie thing because when we started having sex, undressing each other usually meant removing a bulletproof vest. Not very sexy, but we learned to get the job done.

I trade my bra for a purple top with cream colored straps and lace across the breasts. It’s tight around my chest, but baggy on my post-partum stomach. The bottoms are made of the same material and cover my backside. Peeta comes in as I run my fingers through my hair, pulling it out of the braid.

He freezes in the mirror and I know right where his eyes land, my shoulder. He approaches me and traces my new tattoo with his calloused fingers. “It’s beautiful…” he whispers, planting his lips on it.

“Thanks,” I tell him as he slides the silk straps of my top down my arms.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated tonight, Katniss. Just because I’m home doesn’t mean you have to put out.”

I turn around to face him. “Peeta Mellark, I’ve been waiting patiently for six months to be in your arms, to smell you again, to sleep next to you… feel you inside me.”

I don’t know where all this is coming from, maybe it’s the lace panties and lack of real sex. “Some nights I’d sit in bed, remembering how your arms felt around me when you were propped up against the headboard and I rode you…”

He narrows his eyes like he’s testing me. I fix the straps on my top and direct him to the bed, but not before I have his pants and shirt on the ground.

He has a definite tan line on his arms from wearing a t-shirt in the desert, but his lower arms are ghost white compared to his tan hands. He holds my shoulders with a firm grip before kissing me, keeping our lips together as best as we can as he falls back onto the bed. He stays seated with me in his lap, my legs on either side of his.

Somehow, in a flurry of clumsy, hungry kisses and eager caresses, I end up kneeling next to him while his fingers are deep inside me. “I missed doing this to you…” Peeta tells me as I fight to stay upright, “Watching you do this, it wasn’t enough.”

“Mhm…” I moan while fighting to get my top off. I get it around my neck before my orgasm hits me, landing me on my back with my shirt over my face. After that’s gone, my feet are placed over Peeta’s shoulders. I wince when he enters me and just like our first time, he gives me ample time to adjust. He takes my hands in his as he moves in and out of me.

Afterwards, I break down in a fit of tears. Hearing him moan my name, having him next to me… I’m overloaded, happy, and relieved, but suddenly they all wash over me. “Katniss!” Peeta’s panicked as I rip myself away from his body while we cuddle. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

I curl up tighter; I’m truly happy, but it’s so much all at once. I can’t stop or tell him to not panic. I’m in a ball, sobbing like a maniac because I’m happy and I don’t know how to handle it. He rubs my back and fawns over me while I’m stuck in my fit. Once I’m lucid enough to communicate, I latch onto him with my arms and legs. “Baby…” he murmurs into my hair, “What’s wrong…?”

“I… I’m happy. It’s so much. You’re home, you’re here, and you’re never leaving. It all just… rained down on me… like when we were in Louisiana and the ceiling collapsed above me and woosh, swamp water.”

“We should go back to Louisiana someday…”

I nod and fall asleep curled up against him.

Over the next few days, things are set into motion. We call a realtor and start looking at what feels like hundreds of houses. This happens every day while I’m off and Peeta is awaiting training down at Quantico and the employment that will follow. He’s no longer an active Marine, but will always have the title. He’s earned it.

Haymitch is actually the one that gets us into the house we end up buying, as the previous owners were foreclosed on. With four bedrooms and the price only a fraction of what it should be sold for, we couldn’t say no. But that’s not why we fell in love with the house. Peeta and I love the porch swing, the well-kept kitchen and cathedral ceilings in the living room, or is it the family room… I can never tell the difference. The top floor alone is almost the size of our entire apartment. The backyard is fenced in and even has a swing set for Riley and any siblings who might eventually come along.

Over the next few weeks, Peeta and I pack up boxes to move a half hour away, on the same cul-de-sac as the Abernathy’s. I’m pretty sure our landlord is glad to see us go; with a boxer, a cat and a baby, we were eventually bound to destroy his building.

We’re chasing each other with paintbrushes around the bottom floor when my cell phone rings. Johanna was induced this morning and is getting ready to push.

It’s Halloween, so happy birthday, Chloe Madison Hawthorne. From the pictures Gale sent me, baby Chloe, who is also our goddaughter, is one hundred percent Hawthorne. They’re going to need a lot of help someday soon.

The sun is setting when someone knocks at the door. It’s definitely not one of the Abernathy’s, who are already back to barging in whenever. What I’m not expecting as I prance around my house in my husband’s paint covered flannel and torn up sweats is what looks like the Stepford Wives club on my front doorstep. “Hello?” I ask, not really used to neighbors. Apparently, they associate with the people next to them in suburbia while making snide comments about them behind their back.

“Hi!” Their names are Catherine, Lisa, Maureen, and Dianne. Catherine, or Cathy, is their ringleader from what I gather. She’s president of the PTA, or leader of it, head of the book club and her husband is on the admissions board at the country club.

I invite them inside to be polite. “Such a shame what happened with Jim and Stephanie,” Lisa sighs as she sips on a cup of tea at my kitchen table. Peeta is upstairs giving Riley a bath, leaving me in unknown territory. Can I talk to their husbands?

Maureen loves the country kitchen and how the new green paint matches the cabinets and tile. Peeta and I just liked the color. “I love what you did to the formal living room; but honey, you really need a coffee table out there or something.” I quickly learn that there are hundreds of things that can be done with just the furniture. Also, these four women don’t let their children anywhere near the room and seem to have no identity beyond their ‘fuck trophies’, as Haymitch calls them.

Peeta joins us after Riley is asleep. Where the women ask me about house-y related things, they talk to Peeta about work, and how he drives to Quantico, working towards the title of Special Agent with the FBI.

I tear into an apple as Peeta tries to switch the conversation to my business. “I mean, my job is boring. Katniss protects the President.”

They don’t look as… _enthused_ as they did when they found out Peeta will be working for the FBI. Instead, they’re shocked.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Dianne asks, “And I don’t know how you can spend all those long hours away from your baby. I took my Shayla everywhere until she went to school.”

I sink down in my chair, feeling like I’m in front of a firing squad. “I was a Marine before I was a wife or a mother. My job is to protect my country and its people, even if it means spending time away from my daughter.”

Catherine goes to say something else, but Peeta rests his hand on my thigh. “My wife is an American hero, and while you’re in this house, you should respect that and treat her as such. She won’t ask for or expect it, but she’s sacrificed a lot in the name of freedom. Now it’s late and we both have to be at work before sun-up, so I’ll show you to the door.”

I put their mugs in the dishwasher while telling myself I wasn’t doing anything wrong; this is my job. Riley will never forget that I love her more than my own life, she’ll never forget that she’s the reason my heart is still beating. I let Phoenix out once more, but she won’t budge off the couch in the ‘formal living room’. Or should I say, more like formal dog room.

Peeta’s chuckling after he shuts off the coach lights and locks our cars. “Oh, I didn’t go _anywhere_ without my Shayla until she went to school,” he says in a mocking tone.

I frown. “Oh, you simply must see what my husband got me on our last trip to Hilton Head!” I taunt, “How about, ‘you simply must see what my husband got pulling me out from under a collapsed building!?” I ask as he scoops me up in his arms.

Peeta gasps. “How could you possibly spend that long away from your daughter!?” he sighs, “It sucks, but you gotta do what you gotta do… And right now, you need a shower because you've got green paint all along your hairline and in your hair and… what would Cinna say?”

“That he’s been telling me to get highlights, but not green?”

Peeta spanks me before shoving me in our stall shower. He joins me moments later and together, we solve the puzzle that is ‘shower sex.’  Each shower is different and without the edge of the tub it’s difficult, but we manage.

* * *

_November 2007_

It’s quiet in the suburbs; no ambulances, only a few planes flying over us, and the sounds of nature. Before I know it, all four of my bedrooms are occupied with the Odairs and Hawthornes, all in town for my sister’s wedding. It’s just after Thanksgiving; Prim and Rory are getting married in two days.

Johanna and Gale look exhausted from the baby but they’re happy, and from experience, that’s what matters.

Daniel, on the other hand, is infatuated with Riley, but she doesn’t like being the center of his attention. Every time she pulls herself to a standing position against the couch in the ‘formal dog room’, he runs up to her and shoves her to the ground.

Riley blinks twice before wailing. Finnick jumps up and scoops up his son. “Alright, you little brat, time-out. You can’t knock down the baby! Remember, kiddo, Santa is watching.”

Daniel sits quietly in the corner for a full three minutes before Annie tells him to get up and apologize to the already distracted Riley. He awkwardly pats her fuzzy head before toddling away.

“When did we grow up?” Annie sighs, “Seems like it was just yesterday…” she trails off.

I cry while I walk Prim down the aisle. I cry when she’s married, and I cry when it finally hits me. We _have_ grown up.

When the fuck did we become adults? When did we stop being idiotic grunts that followed every order for fear of the repercussions if we didn’t or messed up? Who gave us the orders to get married, to become parents, and to be the ones giving the orders?

Mom comes by and holds onto me, in the same state as I am. “When did my babies become women?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know, Mom… but when you find out, tell me…” I wipe tears from my eyes as Rory spins Prim on the dance floor.

Our entire family came down from Pennsylvania for this. Apparently, they’re trying this thing called fracking in the mountains. It’s a new way to mine for natural gas or something. They’re paying over a hundred grand for every acre of land. None of us knew exactly how much the Hawthornes and Everdeens owned up there, but Grandma Sae is now a wealthy woman.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Finnick asks me after my Mom leaves. “How much we’ve all changed since 2003, but still we’re the same damn people. Sure we’re married, we have kids, and it’s just you, me and Gale left in the good ol’ USMC, but still…” he chuckles, “I remember your deer in headlights face when you first came to Dreamland. God, you were so young.”

“Screw you, Odair.”

“Nah… I like Annie too much…” We grow quiet and I know he’s not over here to taunt me. “I’m going back…” he tells me quietly, “Haven’t told Annie or Daniel yet, but I’ll be in Afghanistan before I know it.”

“Do you know when exactly?”

He shrugs. “Just know it’s coming. It sucks because we’re trying to get Daniel a playmate; but with me gone, who’s going to impregnate his mother?”

I punch his arm. “You’re a pig, Finnick. Plus, she can use a turkey baster and some… donations you make for her.” He looks at me, horrified. “Aw, how does it feel to realize you’re just a walking sperm bank with a turkey baster attached?”

“What happened to shy, pure Katniss?”

I grin. “She died in Fallujah.”

* * *

_Christmas 2007_

“So, how do you like your neighbors?” my mother-in-law asks while cutting the stems off some green beans.

I peer at her over a glass of wine. “Next question, when is Tiffany due?”

“Tiff in February; Madge in June, I think. She and Ryan got married a few weeks ago. Real small, just the two of them,” she says, and seems somewhat upset. “Didn’t even tell us, just came home with the papers. But we’re happy.”

“Yeah, you’re getting three grandbabies in less than a year and a half.”

She pokes my stomach. “Round two?”

I shake my head no. We can’t even try now anyway. I’m being stationed in Egypt for eight months. I leave on February 1st.

There’s a loud crash in the other room, followed by the cat with his tail poofed out, dashing away like a bat out of hell.

“Cat knocked over the tree again!” Peeta calls.

Fifth time this week.

Riley doesn’t understand Christmas yet, and most of her gifts are for Peeta and I. We get clothes to dress her in, bottles and sippy cups. She gets some toys, but her favorite is a stuffed elephant she already refuses to leave the house without.

* * *

_January 2008_

Next thing I know, it’s Riley’s first birthday. We spend it as a quiet evening between the three of us. She falls asleep in my arms and I shift her so that I can kiss her dark curls, unable to shake how close I was to never having her, Peeta or the amazing life I have.

“Knock knock…” Peeta says, pushing into the nursery.

“Shh… she’s sleeping…” I push her hair back.

Peeta comes up behind me and kisses the back of my head. “How would we have gotten here if the stars hadn’t lined up just how they did?”

I tilt my head back and kiss him. “We would have found our way together. Though sometimes, I do want to go back and smack eighteen year old me. I should have kissed you all those years ago, but we can’t dwell on that. We’re here now… and we’re perfect.”

“We’ll be here forever,” he tells me as we watch our daughter sleep in my arms.

End Part 3.


	49. Arlington

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of the end. Realistically I only have about 6 chapters left, depending on how quickly I move through things. 
> 
> Super big thanks to Chelzie who got this back to me like the day after her vacation. :D
> 
> Before I get into things, let me just say that I’m not sorry for what you’re about to read. 
> 
> Part 4, the final part of Semper Fidelis, is going to focus more on Peeta and Katniss working together where before there wasn’t much of a focus on that. 
> 
> I don’t want to give any spoilers because so far no one has guessed the people who are dying correctly or what is going to do them in…
> 
> SO WITHOUT FURTHER BULLSHITTING, HERE’S CHAPTER 49! I AM GOING BACK TO PLAYING THE SIMS.
> 
> Remember you can leave your questions, comments or concerns as a comment or in my askbox deliverustogirouxsalem.tumblr.com/ask or my email Falafelwaffelfics@gmail.com I check it like twice a month, though.

When I was younger, I guess I was more idealistic. I was convinced that all I needed in life was food on the table and a paycheck. That’s how simple my life was back when I was eighteen.

Now there’s so much more I know I need, and so many more I know who need me. It’s not just Mom, Prim and I anymore.

There’s my husband, who has dealt with more of my bullshit over the years than we’d like to admit, yet still loves me with every fiber of his being. My child, so young and innocent, the perfect combination of Peeta and I.  And our future grandchildren, people I will never get to meet. Hopefully they’re told about me, but the parts where my bullheadedness got me into trouble are left out.

It would be a short tale.

I try to cough, but it makes everything worse. I’m drowning. It was a one in a million shot, just like the one I was determined to get. I think I succeeded, or at least I hope I did. Fuck, I’ll be pissed if I didn’t hit my target, because that is my legacy, besides my child. I’m infantry, trained to kill. That is my job, not to mention my purpose.

I try to kick myself as I lay in the street after falling off the second story balcony; I fell flat on my back and I don’t  _think_  I’ve broken anything. Besides, that’s the least of my concern. There’s still the bullet in my chest. It really was a one in a million shot. For years, I’ve been trained to keep my arms down. The vulnerable parts of a bulletproof vest are the sides, where there’s only Velcro protecting your lungs and heart. Keep your arm down and take a bullet in the things you can live without.

But stupid me wanted that shot so bad, so I lifted my arm to get the right angle. I leaned over the balcony’s edge and held my breath, pulling the trigger just as the round sank into me.

The fall wasn’t even bad; it was the landing that sucked.

How could I be so careless? Maybe it would have hit the edge of the vest if I didn’t need to wear the top just a little looser to accommodate my breasts, which have gone from a comfortable B to a confusing C after having Riley. Peeta didn’t mind.

God, I just can’t win.

I try coughing to move the moisture out of my lungs so I can breathe, but nothing seems to work.

I’m dying.

I got stupid, I got careless, and now I’m paying for it with my life.

How could I be so stupid?

The medics find me in the street and shine a light in my eyes. They look worried, but I’m still in here. Death hasn’t caught me yet.

It’s not just me anymore. There are three people at home waiting for me to return in two weeks and be out of the Marines. Peeta didn’t want me here.  ‘War is for the kids,’ he told me over and over. But I had to give it one more go before settling on a desk job at the FBI or CIA, whichever one snatches me up first; Good God, they’ve been asking enough. Someone else will get that job, someone who isn’t so bullheaded enough to take a bullet to the chest.

Now Peeta is losing his wife, and Riley, her mother. Prim never wanted me to deploy from the get-go, but if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have Peeta or Riley. I wouldn’t know Annie, Finnick, Johanna, or Haymitch. Maybe without Fallujah, Peeta and I would have grown together in some other way; maybe knowing I was still in Nanticoke would have brought him back from Afghanistan instead of to Germany. Maybe I would have finally told him I had feelings for him, or he would initiate it.

I can’t deal with the what-if’s.

God, my mother, whose only crime was not giving birth to two Prim’s. She’s buried one Marine, now another will be coming home. One was too many.

I feel the medics lift me and realize my legs are completely numb, maybe from the fall, maybe from blood loss. I won’t need them much longer.

I squeeze my eyes shut, not ready to die, but too weak to keep them open.

Riley, please forgive me. I know you didn’t want me to leave. Someday, please forgive me for not being there for your Prom, or for your graduation, and when you go off to college. I won’t see you get married or have babies of your own. When I was younger, I was stuck in my own ideal that I didn’t want children; but now that I have you, I can’t imagine life without.

Oh, Peeta, you’re going to have to stay strong. I won’t get to grow old with you. We never even got to visit Hawaii, all because I had to go back. All because I lifted my arm from off my side.

I feel my body get jostled, even in my legs, which I think is a good sign.

Peeta, I wish I had been brave enough to talk to you when we were in school. Our eight years together hasn’t been nearly enough. I wish I had been brave enough to have children from the get-go. I was dead set against it, but if only I knew then how much joy being a mother could bring me.

None of this was in my plan for myself, but in my own selfish nature, I regret none of it.

You and Riley are perfect. The only thing I regret is not knowing our first. I like to think it was a boy, and he would have been just like you, Peeta, kind and patient but still so strong and brave. He would have none of me in him; none of my anger, paranoia, or depression, just loving kindness.

We’ll never know.

Maybe at this time, I should make peace or pray to some form of God. Maybe ask for more time because that’s all I’ve wanted in my life. In 2006, I was ready to walk away from Peeta. How could I be so dumb? I did raise my arm though, that’s how. Now I just want more time; more time with my daughter, more time with my husband; hell, even more time with my mother-in-law.

I actually start feeling the pain, which I take as another good sign. I have to hold on – for Peeta, for Riley, for Mom, for Prim. For every person who has died because of me.

I open my eyes to a bright light. I just have to hold on for one more second. I have to hold onto the pain. Pain means I’ve survived for one more second.

“Major, can you hear me?”

I try to speak, but I can’t push the air out of my lungs well enough to talk and still live. I would like to tell her, ‘Yes, I can fucking hear you, mind turning down that light and not shouting at me? I’m dying not deaf, though we’re working on blind.’

She says something about my heartbeat. It’s weak and slow, but steady.

Everything is cold as my clothes are cut from my body. Something passes my narrow field of vision. It’s a little piece of copper. “This is what tried to kill you,” she says as I feel a bee-sting in my hand.

Yes, wonderful, let me examine how it mushroomed instead of fixing me. My family needs me.

She says my blood pressure is dropping and they need to put me under before I become too unstable.

The numbness starts at my hands and feet, places that don’t need blood for me to live. It spreads quickly up my arms and legs taking away the pain, taking away what I'm holding onto to survive. The numbness is sweet on my tongue.

I no longer feel the pain as I fight the urge to fall asleep. I can’t sleep, I have to hold on, stay awake. Awake means I’m alive. Awake means I can see my family again. I can’t fight it for long, though. I’m put under with only the sound of Peeta’s voice to keep me alive.

His laughter when I told him every girl loves a Marine after he claimed to love a girl back home; the first time he told me he loved me, his first proposal, and second, and third, his ‘I do’ on our wedding day. Even his slightly off-key singing as he rocks Riley back to bed after she’s had a bad dream.

Peeta is my lifeline. Peeta has always been my lifeline, ever since we were children. He barely knew me and he fed my family. He ran to pull me from under a building, getting trapped with a near dead me behind enemy lines during a sandstorm. My love for him kept me somewhat sane when he was missing, when he was being beaten and tortured without knowing how I felt. He’s the one who can always bring me back from the worst nightmares.

Oh, Peeta, I’m so sorry.

And then there's nothing.

* * *

_February 2009_

My eyes shoot open. Darkness surrounds me but my lifeline, Peeta’s congested snores, are still there. Peeta says I brought the flu home from Egypt. The heater kicks on and I’m brought back to reality.

It’s not my funeral tomorrow, but Finnick’s.

Peeta must sense I’m awake because his snoring stops. “Same dream?” he asks, reaching out and pulling me close to him again, but there’s something in the way.

“Yeah…” I whisper, trying to not wake up the baby. Well, she’s not a baby anymore - Riley is two. I missed an entire year of her life, but I’m not going anywhere any time soon. “I’m going for a walk, okay?”

He kisses my cheek and I slip out of bed to pull on my sweats and shove my feet in sneakers. Peeta’s hoodie is huge on me, but it will have to do. I can’t wake a peacefully sleeping Riley.

We got the news about Finnick five days ago. It was a helicopter crash, or a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG), or something. I couldn’t get a straight answer no matter how hard I dug. I do know that his body was recovered in one piece. He technically died from his femoral artery being severed and bled out in the desert, thousands of miles away from his family.

It’s barely thirty degrees out once I get outside, but I’m not the only one braving the cold. I cross the cul-de-sac to the Abernathy’s front porch.

“Can’t sleep?” Haymitch asks as I sit next to him.

I shake my head no before leaning into him without a second thought. I’ve been in the States for three weeks. Three whole weeks, and my world is in complete disarray. Two days after I landed, Phoenix had what felt like her hundredth seizure; she was refusing to eat, and snapped at all three of us. Peeta and I took her to the vet and the news wasn’t good. The vet called it a glioma and at her age, the treatment would be worse than the alternative. It was a long night, but she went peacefully in Peeta’s arms, knowing she was loved.

Haymitch puts an awkward arm around me. “Just can’t believe the kid’s gone…”

It’s all we can say. We just sit in a numb silence until I end up passing out on Haymitch’s shoulder and he carries me back to my bedroom.

“How is she?” Peeta yawns as the blankets are thrown over me.

I stretch. “Trying to sleep…” Peeta pulls me into his chest, having returned Riley to her bed while I was gone and I’m out again.

Seven AM comes too soon. “Mommy! Daddy!” There’s a loud ‘oof’ out of Peeta as Riley jumps on his torso. “Miss Izzy! Miss Izzy braids my hair!”

Peeta yawns. “Isabelle is off at college, bunny…” Isabelle Abernathy couldn’t get her high school job back over the summer, so Peeta paid her to watch Riley during the day. Although we get daycare for free through his job, he was still in training for most of the summer and it made no sense to drive back into the city just to pick her up. Five months later, Riley still thinks she’ll be watched by Miss Isabelle. Cinna and Portia have her today.

According to his will, if Finnick died while overseas, he would be buried at Arlington because it’s what is proper.

While I iron my blues and Peeta’s suit, I watch Peeta and Riley get ready. She sits on the counter and mimics her father while he brushes his teeth and pushes some of his hair back. She takes the brush I use on her hair and brushes it forward. Peeta stops brushing his teeth and takes it from her, then begins brushing her hair back while the toothbrush hangs out of his mouth. I spend a minute inspecting my white gloves for any stains, dirt, or other imperfection. Another of Finnick’s postmortem demands is that his flag not be folded by strangers. With Gale in Afghanistan, the only two options are Haymitch and I.

Every so often I find myself crying; somehow I always knew I’d lose Finnick. He was just too good of a person to not be taken.

It’s a somber drive to the funeral home. I pick at cat hair on my skirt that isn’t there or a loose string on Peeta’s pants, anything to keep myself busy.

There’s a crowd on the streets leading up to the funeral home. They look like ordinary people, but through the bodies I see hate-filled protestors.  _Just what we need, something else to make today even harder for the Odairs._  People block them from our view, though; a human wall patched together with American flags and the Marine Corps flag line the small patch of road. Finnick’s funeral isn’t the only one today; one came before it and another will come after.

 _He’s just asleep. He’s just asleep. He’s just asleep…_ I tell myself as we enter the atrium of the funeral home. I can’t force myself to go inside.

Peeta pulls me in. “Take as long as you need…” he whispers, “Because I’m not sure I can go in there, either.”

When we finally muster up the courage to go inside the parlor, Annie’s dead face does me in, but all of it is overshadowed by her round stomach. Peeta squeezes my hand.

I need to be strong, even if I can’t be. Even if I want to curl up in a ball and sob, my pain is nothing compared to Annie and Daniel’s, to his father, or to his blood relatives. Then I see it, my breath catches in my throat and everything becomes so real. A pair of dirty boots, a rifle tucked in them so it stands, and a helmet on the stock off to the side. On a stand is a picture of him when he was eighteen, that one picture we all have that’s really in case of death. It must be in some SOP guide book that the picture must be displayed at a funeral. Uncomfortable smile, full blues, with the United States and Marine Corps flags behind you.

The coffin is half open and no matter how hard I tell myself he’s asleep, he doesn’t look it. He looks like some vacant form that has nothing inside it. When I can’t sleep, I watch Peeta. When he sleeps, there’s a rise and fall of his chest, his face twitches, and there’s warmth in his cheeks. Here, Finnick is stagnant, empty.

Dead.

When we finally reach Annie, Daniel, and Finnick’s father, my tongue dries. What can I possibly say to them?

Annie looks up at me with red rimmed eyes. I hold her hands and say nothing for a few seconds. Annie’s lower lip quivers. “I know…” she cries, “I can’t, either…” She gets it. Peeta pulls her into as tight of a hug as he can considering her condition, while I kneel down in front of Daniel. He reminds me of Prim at our father’s funeral. “Why won’t my Daddy get up?” he asks and I can’t answer him. Five years old and they already took the rug out from under his feet.

“I’m so sorry…” I whisper, hugging him.

Peeta and I stand alone at Finnick’s coffin. I wipe my tears with my hand every so often. “You fucking idiot,” I finally whisper, “You have a son, a daughter who isn’t even here yet, and your wife…” But I know it’s not his fault, “I’m sorry…”

Peeta lets go of my hand and I panic, but he kneels down to pray on the padded bar in front of the casket. I just stare at the pictures propped up against the white silk. There’s one from our first Birthday Ball, before the guys threw Annie, Johanna and I over their shoulders.  

When we go to sit down, Peeta and I take the two seats next to Johanna and Chloe, with Prim and Rory on her other side.

Finnick’s eulogy is short and sweet. His father talks about how proud he is of his son; Haymitch talks about Finnick when he was fresh out of OCS. Peeta even gets up to thank Finnick for keeping me safe when he was missing, not to mention when I was overseas and pregnant.

Finally, when everyone and their mother seems to say something about Finnick and they call for any more, much to everyone’s shock, I stand up.

I clear my throat and lean awkwardly into the microphone. My eyes are raw from crying, and my throat is hoarse. “Finnick Odair was my lifeline so many times and I never got the chance to thank him,” I say quietly. “When my husband, Finnick’s wife, our friend, Johanna, and another Marine were taken prisoner, I thought he was this annoying… ass. He bugged me to eat every day even though I was so depressed, I wasn’t hungry. He made sure I stayed fit and that I wasn’t ever alone because after one of my watches, I had nothing to do; he was at my side, even though he was hurting, too. I watched him run into a rain of fire without hesitation to save a stranger that I was too afraid to help. I will  _never_  be able to thank him,” I stop as it all presses down on my shoulders, “Major Finnick Odair was a selfless man. I’m honored to have known him,” I swallow, “To serve under him… and to have been able to learn from him.”

After we say our final goodbyes, Annie and Daniel have their chance to say goodbye. We can’t see them but we can hear them. “Daddy!” the boy screams, “Wake up! You said we’d go to the beach when you came home!”

I grab onto my shirt as Daniel screams for his dead father. I can’t breathe; I can only see the exit, so I do what I do best. I run into the cold February air and it isn’t until the bitterness of the outside world stings my lungs that I realize Peeta hasn’t let go of my hand.

The drive to Arlington is painful, the cold whipping through the silent hills, chilling us to the core. I can’t even look at Haymitch as we fold the flag draped over Finnick’s coffin. Each shot of his salute makes me jump. “It’ll be okay…” Peeta whispers, “It’s going to be okay…”

After he’s laid in the ground, I notice Annie off by herself. “Hey…” I whisper.

“They finally did it. They took everything he had. Just ripped everything away from him,” she mumbles before looking up at me. “What do you think you’re really doing, Katniss?” she asks bitterly. “Do you think you’re doing any good in the world?”

She catches me off guard. “Well, I-“

“This is a  _war_  started by a childish man in a big comfy chair with thousands of sacrificial pawns waiting to die for his cause!” she shouts. “What more can they take from me?!” I shy away as she keeps shouting. “What do you honestly think you’re doing? Any good in the world?”

Annie takes a few deep breaths. “I think it’s best if you, Peeta, Johanna, Gale, and Haymitch just get out of mine and Daniel’s lives. We’re moving back to California with my parents. The house is already empty. I want nothing to do with the Marines, or with my old life. Finnick gave everything to this country - his youth, his time, his heart, but it finally took his life. I don’t need any of you corrupting my son or my daughter.”

She walks away, leaving me dumbfounded. Johanna is the only one to speak up. “He was our friend!” she shouts after her. “Don’t you think it fucking hurts us, too?”


	50. Letters From Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... how the hell did this happen? When I started writing Semper Fidelis, there were two options for how it ended... An Everlark wedding being the grand finale or... Katniss dying was the main plan but I grew too attached to this fic and well... LOOK! LIKE SERIOUSLY WTF LOOK!
> 
> Thank you Chelzie for coming to me like a bazillion chapters and betaing this giant. It'll be over soon(ish).
> 
> So... Let's get this show on the god damn road!
> 
> Feedback and comments aren't only welcome, they're encouraged.

_May 2009_

“Shhh…” I tell Riley as we approach Peeta’s and my bed. She covers her mouth with her hands while I shift her from one hip to another.

“Peeta,” I call, shaking the bed with my foot. “Peeta!” He sleeps like the dead anymore. I don’t know what changed, whether he’s finally comfortable or that he finally feels safe. He’s a hulking mass tangled up in our cream colored sheets, facing away from the two of us. It’s kind of cute how he can sleep past sunrise now.

But our lawn needs to be mowed.

He cracks an eye open. “Yeah?” he asks, rolling onto his back so he can see me. Instead, Riley launches herself out of my arms and onto her father’s chest to greet him.

“Hey, bunny…” he yawns while wrapping his arms around her, “How’d you sleep?”

She doesn’t care about her father’s question; the cat is curled up at the end of the bed and she’s off to chase after the poor thing. “So you got in late,” I start, climbing over him. I sit against the headboard and he wraps his arms around my waist, lifting up my shirt to kiss my hip.

“Looking over shitty files and evidence reports…” he yawns, “Called to get a search warrant, but I’m not getting a judge to do anything after five on a Sunday.”

“Remember when you were just going to be a-“ I pause as Riley tugs on Amal’s tail. “Riley Christine, if you pull that cat’s tail one more time, I will whoop you,” I warn. She sits up and crosses her legs, petting the cat gingerly. “Much better...” I sigh and kiss Peeta’s head. “Remember when you were just going to be a crypto-linguist?”

“And now I work special cases… Kidnapping, murder, bank robbery.”

I nod. “Yeah, but now you have to get up and mow the lawn,” I inform him.

He groans in reply. “Katniss, I just woke up, and I worked until two…”

“And I had PT yesterday!” I lie, “And I’m changing the oil in _your_ car.”

He presses his face into my stomach and blows a raspberry, which sends the cat running out of the room. “Fine! You just want to watch me without a shirt on.”

I pull away from him and slide off the bed, grabbing Riley in the process. She’s light and I get her over my shoulder without issue. “You betcha! Come on, bunny, let’s get some food into Daddy.”

Riley goes down for her nap while Peeta and I get to work. I end up getting oil in my face from watching how the sweat glistens on his back.

After I dispose of the oil and make sure all the caps are tightened, I go inside to make sure the oil is off my face.

I splash cold water on my cheeks until my skin is no longer slippery. Suddenly, there are hands on my hips. Survival instincts kick in before logic and I spin around with a knife in my hand.

Peeta blinks as the fog clouds from my mind and I drop the butter knife. “I’m so sorry… I-“

“Shhh…” As I shy into myself, Peeta pulls me to him. “I thought you could hear me. I didn’t think I was sneaking up on you… Though if you’re going to defend yourself, might I suggest anything that isn’t a butter knife?”

I melt into his hug, wrapping my arms around his waist and sneaking my hands between his shorts and sweaty flesh. “I have a high powered assault rifle downstairs that’s one of a kind… will that do?” Earlier in the week, I got a call that the rifle I'm being given to test for Beetee, the weapon’s expert I met in Germany, is ready to be handed over to me after a huge pile of paperwork. I don’t know the exact science behind guns, but I know it has something to do with the tightness of the rifling. It’s one of a kind and naturally in every registry ever made, as well as patent pending.

Peeta and I are adamant about keeping our guns locked up because of the baby, which makes me feel defenseless; so we stick to the old Pennsylvania tradition of keeping an aluminum bat under the couch, our bed, and in the downstairs closet.

“I mean…” he pulls away, “If the attacker is at the Abernathy’s and you’re in the backyard,” he tells me while unabashedly reaching his hand down his pants and adjusting himself. “What?” he asks just after my jaw hits the floor. “Sometimes you have to peel them off the walls. Don’t need them overheating.”

I roll my eyes, knowing what he means. Since Riley turned two, Peeta’s been wanting another kid. It’s a subtle, nagging want where he never outwardly says, ‘Let’s try for another baby.’ Instead, he’ll point out the rabbits’ nest in our backyard, how we’ll have an extra crib once we move Riley to a real bed, and how much he loved having his brothers when he was growing up.

Does he know what I like? Being able to work, having only one kid telling me she ‘accidentally’ shit herself, and that my stretch marks are finally starting to fade. “Why?” I ask while passing him to head upstairs and shower before getting Riley up from her nap. “You’re not going to be doing anything productive with them any time soon!” I taunt.

Peeta doesn’t immediately follow me upstairs, which makes me worry that I've actually upset him. I shower, get changed and even wake Riley up before returning to the kitchen, where I see Peeta hunched over at the table.

I rest my hand on his shoulder. “Hey… I’m sorry about…“ He shoves an envelope in my direction before I can finish and says nothing as I set Riley down. She immediately decides that her legs don’t work and falls to the ground like a limp noodle.

The envelope is official, from the Federal Correctional Institution in Cumberland, Maryland. I flip it over a few times as Peeta gets up from the kitchen table to put our limp noodle in her high chair. “You should just burn it. Keep the past in the past.”

I understand what he means when the return address catches my eye.

_Marvel…_

I still open it against my better judgment.

_Miss Everdeen,_

_Well, I guess I can’t call you that anymore, Mrs. Mellark. Congratulations on your wedding and the birth of your daughter. Congratulations on every promotion you’ve received since my incarceration in 2003. Much has changed for both of us since Fallujah and I would like to see you before I go before the Parole Board in a month._

_Attached is a copy of the visiting hours for Cumberland._

_See you soon,_

_Jacob Marvel_

The rest of the day passes in a haze. I think I went to the Abernathy’s for dinner with Peeta and Riley, I think I helped bathe Riley and read her a story until she fell asleep.

Nothing is clear until I’m in front of the bathroom mirror completely naked, staring at the scars on my arms and legs. Memories tattooed on my skin the day Marvel decided to act on a foolish order, instigating unnecessary combat.

Peeta tries to support me over the next couple of days and I try to be there for him as well. He seems to continue sleeping peacefully until he has to shake me out of a nightmare two, three, or even four times every night. The only time Peeta mentions the letter is when he adamantly tells me that I shouldn’t go visit Marvel.

“You look like shit,” Haymitch says on the way into work.

I ignore him and press through the door, presenting my ID and wait to be buzzed in. “Hey, if you’re sick, I don’t want anything that little germ factory is bringing home.”

I try and give Haymitch the angriest look I can muster, but I’m so pathetically tired that he stalks me into the office. “Fighting with the husband?”

I shake my head. Peeta’s been adorningly affectionate the last day or so. He’s patient whenever I’m having a bad moment and doesn’t complain about picking up the slack I’m leaving behind in my hazy, depressed wake.

“No… I just haven’t been sleeping. Nightmares.” I try logging in to my computer but it tells me my password has expired. It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and everything I’ve been pushing to the back of my mind surges forward.

_Rue, he killed her._

_How does he know where we live?_

_How does he know about Riley?_

Suddenly, a phantom pain makes my leg and arm ache. “Mellark, go home. You have enough personal time stored up and what good are you doing around here? Go home, get some sleep, and don’t come back in until you’re sane.”

I stand up from my desk. Home is the last place I want to be.

I call Peeta on the way to my car. “What’s up?” he asks.

“Haymitch sent me home,” I tell him, still sniffling. “Something about me being too pathetic and shit. I’m just going to get Riley. I’ll see you when you get off work.”

“I’ll be working late, we got that warrant… You know the drill.”

“Mhm. I love you, baby. Go get the bad guy.”

“Love you, too.”

It’s a two hour drive out to Cumberland, Maryland. Riley and I get to the prison a half hour before visiting hours start, giving me time to down the largest cup of coffee I can get my hands on, pace in the parking lot, and change a dirty diaper.

Much to my surprise, this is the first time I’ve felt sane since receiving the letter on Saturday.

On the way here I made a few phone calls and pulled a few strings, so Riley and I get to sit in a plain, cold room with one guard and a metal table that has a bar going across at one end.

“Do you need anything?” the guard asks for the third time. I shake my head and pet down Riley’s curly hair as she flips through a book with thick cardboard pages. “Kitty!” she shrieks, pointing at a picture.

“Mhm… and what’s that?” I ask, pointing at the next picture.

“Doggy!”

The door slams behind me. When I look up, I hardly recognize the man being brought into the room. Close to six years of imprisonment have left no sign that he was ever a Marine on Marvel’s body. His muscles are atrophied, and his hair is a shaggy mess. He looks like the scrawny kid who made me the coffee I chugged just before arriving here.

I stand up to shake his hand, but want to jerk away when I feel how cold his fingers are. “It’s been a while,” he says after being handcuffed to the bar on the table for Riley’s and my safety.

“A few years… how have you been?” I ask, trying to alleviate some of _my_ tension. Small talk has never been a strong point of mine.

Marvel shrugs. “How do you think…” he hesitates, “Lieutenant? Congratulations.”

“Thanks… so why did you write me?”

Marvel sits silent for a minute or so, then leans forward so suddenly that I jump. “Sorry, I can understand why you’re on edge. I wrote because I wanted to tell you personally that I am not going before the Parole Board.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Seriously? Not in a rush to get out of here?”

Marvel chuckles. “Lieutenant Mellark, in 2002, I thought the most dangerous place for me was Iraq. In 2003, it was prison. Now it’s the outside world.”

“Seriously?” I ask skeptically.

Marvel nods. “The world is a dangerous place… for me.”

I feel disappointed. Days of not being able to sleep just so he can tell me he's passing on parole? “I want money for the gas I wasted driving out here,” I spit, taking the book from Riley. “Come on, baby, we’re going home.” Riley just nods sleepily as I tuck the book in her diaper bag. “Thank you so much for wasting my time.”

It’s when I have Riley in my arms again that he speaks up. “Can I hold her? Your daughter?”

A chill runs down my spine at the thought of this _murderer_ holding my baby. “Go fuck yourself. The last time you got close to a child, she died in my arms!”

I turn my back to him and have to wait for the guard to open the heavy door. “Lieutenant Mellark?”

I give him one last minute of my time. “The Lord has forgiven me… for my crimes in Fallujah.”

“Wonderful. Tell that to Rue’s father.”

“Katniss?” I shiver at hearing my name. “To get to where you are today… did you make a lot of friends?” He already knows the answer. “You certainly didn’t get to where you are today without making some enemies. I would watch your back.”

His warning sticks with me the entire ride home. “Fuck…” I grumble, seeing Peeta’s car in the driveway when I pull in.

“Peeta?” I call as I push open the door leading from the garage to the house. “Hey, babe, you here?” I ask, setting Riley down to go cause terror.

He comes out of the living room. “Where were you? I thought you weren’t feeling well?”

I look out the window. The sun is just setting, meaning Peeta left early to spend time with me. “I went to see Marvel…” I mumble.

“I’m sorry, am I going deaf?” he nearly yells. Peeta never raises his voice, ever. “Because I’m pretty sure you just said you took our two year old daughter to see the man who not only killed a little girl, but also shot you and then tried to bury you under a building!”

I can’t look at him. It’s all true, so I walk around him and head upstairs. “Where are you going?” he asks, livid and disappointed. I can’t be here right now. “We aren’t done talking!”

“No!” I finally shout, “You mean you aren’t done yelling at me! Okay, fine! I did something you didn’t want me to do! Yes, I took our daughter! Peeta, I don’t sleep at night! I can’t eat! All I’ve been able to think about is whether he had something important to tell me!”

“And?” he asks in a calmer tone.

“Marvel is passing on parole because he thinks the outside world is too dangerous for him, and that I didn’t get to where I am today without making some enemies and that I should watch my back. Oh, and God forgave him.”

I don’t know what he means by that. Everyone who wants me dead is either already behind bars or probably dead themselves.

Peeta’s eyes soften. “It’s probably just the ramblings of a mad man…” He opens his arms, waiting for me to come in for a hug. It’s a slap in the face. Come home and let him yell at me, then a hug?

“No,” I take a step back, “Go fuck yourself. You come at me before I can even get my shoes off; you don’t get forgiven on _your_ terms.”

I stomp upstairs, my heels making the stairs shake.

I close my eyes as soon as I hit the bed, sleeping through dinner and only waking up when the bed shifts next to me. “Should I sleep on the couch?”

My anger has dissolved into sorrow. I don’t want Peeta to leave me alone tonight. If he ends up on the couch, so will I. I shake my head ‘no’ and he climbs over me onto his side of the bed. “I’m sorry for coming at you like that. It’s just… I almost lost you that day, and the thought of him near Riley…”

“I know…” I whisper, still facing away from him. “He asked to hold her and I told him to go fuck himself.”

Peeta laughs and kisses the top of my head. “I just keep thinking about that day, over and over. How hopeless it all seemed for a while.”

“But we’re here, Peeta…” I remind him. “We got out.”

“I know, but I still can’t forget it.”

I roll over and attach myself to him for comfort. “I know…”

We don’t make it under the covers or out of our work clothes, but it’s the best night of sleep I’ve gotten since that letter was handed to me.

“No nightmares?” Peeta asks when my alarm goes off at six.

“No nightmares,” I confirm, sitting up and scratching my head. My scalp hurts from my hair being pulled back all day and night. “You?”

He shakes his head no and I know today will be better.


	51. The Beginning of the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this might be the last chapter for a while. I was planning on taking a break from writing for a week or so to catch up with school work.... But I did that, so now I've been lounging on the couch watching Netflix and self-medicating for my arthritis with Tylenol-3 until the couch feels furry.
> 
> But you know... Since I'm required by fanfiction law to spend 1-2 hours of my day writing and forcing it out instead of waiting for inspiration to come who knows when the next chapter is going to come. 
> 
> http://effietrinketsdownstairswig.tumblr.com/post/42962194114/you-know-how-you-get-updates-out-of-fanfiction-authors
> 
> Please direct your attention to this post if you have no idea what I'm talking about.
> 
> As always, thank you Chelzie for fixing my mistakes both big and small, and for being an evil genius and helping me make Part 4 hurt even more. 
> 
> ONWARD!
> 
> Oh, and there's between 4-6 chapters left.
> 
> [](http://imgur.com/aXTYc1X)   
> 
> 
> Thank you Ro Nordmann for the banner!

“Can’t we just stay home?” I ask for the hundredth time while Peeta zips me into my dress. It’s a halter that exposes my tan back and tattoo with a loose top and tight skirt that shows off my muscular, scarred legs.

We drove all the way up to Nanticoke, dumped Riley at Sae’s house for the night, and I even got a dress. After all this, there's no way Peeta is going to let me miss our ten year high school reunion.  Peeta had a normal high school career; he was well liked, never got suspended, and I don’t think I ever saw him in detention.

In contrast, I was that weird girl who sat in the back and had one friend and several acquaintances through said friend. I ran track, avoided the football games and every dance but Prom. I fought my classmates like it was my job if they said something bad about me or my family. I was the constant target of bullying. Though looking back, the years of being called worthless, a dyke, and a slut prepared me for boot camp, so I guess there’s a silver lining.

“Come on, babe – you know you want to see who got married, who got divorced, who’s on their eighth kid and who's fat.”

He’s right. I want to see who’s done a complete one eighty from nineteen ninety nine. Peeta and I look almost the same, though we do have some premature wrinkles from job stress; I’m pretty sure I found my first grey hair, though Peeta ripped it out of my head to get me to shut up about it. I’m fifteen pounds over my high school weight, though I couldn’t even lift my own weight back then.

“There are a few people who I hope look like grizzly bears.”

He nods. “Plus Madge and my brother will be there, so we can people watch with them.” He doesn’t mention that I was the one who suggested we go to this. I'm the one who wanted to come. Peeta knows better.

We decide that walking to our old high school is the best option. Since one of us is likely to end up drunk tonight and well… monkey see, monkey do.

“Are you sure you can walk in those?” Peeta asks, using our laced fingers to point at my black heels.

“I marched like three miles in boots in rainy season Iraq. I can walk two blocks in heels, baby.” Peeta waits until we’re in the shadow of the thrift store where my entire high school wardrobe came from to sneak his hand under my skirt and cup my butt.

“Wait, what the fuck?” He pulls his hand out and tugs my skirt down again before pulling at the top of it.

I shrug. “I didn’t want panty lines,” I tell him honestly.

* * *

“There they are!” Madge calls the second we enter our old high school. She latches onto my wrist. “Oh my Lord, you look amazing! Come on, everyone’s over here!” I don’t know who ‘everyone’ is, but I’m having odd high school flashbacks even as some jock type guys pull my husband away from me.

He frowns in my direction, since we work best as a team. This won’t do at all. Everyone in this room has changed, though I feel like I’m the same. People don’t recognize me. I have make-up and a dress on, and my hand isn’t full of some townie bitch’s shirt.

It’s weird being back, seeing people my husband barely associated with in high school, or at least I don’t think he did. Come to think of it, the only thing I really remember about him in high school was his fondness for a single pair of Levis that made his ass look fantastic.

Now I watch these people celebrate the war hero, the POW. Naturally I shy away, acting like the wallflower I know I am. I watch Peeta scan the room for me, and his face still lights up when he finds mine. Peeta motions with his head for me to come over, but I just sip on my Yuengling. I was pleasantly surprised when Madge handed it to me, because you can’t get this close to the chain white-trash trifecta without finding one.

Ten years as a Marine, six years as a wife, and I’m still the same person. It’s something I’m proud of as I look at my graduating class. Men have started balding, and women who I used to hear barfing in the bathroom stalls have grown to a healthy or healthy plus a few pounds weight. People show off pictures of their kids and either talk or exaggerate about their jobs. Everyone is still divided amongst their cliques from school.

I never had one, as I didn’t fit in any group. Sure I ran track, but the track team wanted nothing to do with me. If I beat their time, it was because I was ‘training to run from the cops’. The only two people I really associated with were Madge and Gale… and Gale graduated one year too early.

 _Maybe I should be social…_  I sigh inwardly. But what could I say?

_Hi, I’m that weird girl from the back of your English class. You know, the one you called a dyke every day because all I owned to wear was cargo pants and combat boots?_

_Hi, I’m that girl who beat the shit out of you?_

I decide it’s best to just walk out of the room to get some fresh air, or as fresh as I can get with a circle of smokers shooting the shit.

They’re already drunk and actually remember who I am. “Well, if it isn’t Catpiss!” a woman slurs.

“Real original, Victoria,” I sneer, “Ten years and you still can’t figure out how to insult me?” I turn towards them, “Now go back inside and act like an adult,” I tell her before finishing off my beer.

She separates from the herd, stumbling a little. God, I hate drunks. “Where’s your wife?”

I throw my bottle down and it shatters on the sidewalk. “At home, chained up to the bed waiting for me to get home and fuck her!” I snap.

No one says a damn thing until I hear Peeta calling my name. “There you are,” he says, kissing my temple, oblivious to what might be happening, and rests his hand on my hip.

My drunken tormenter gets ballsy. “Ew, Peeta, get away from that one. You know what her family does! She’ll probably just ask you to pump a baby in her and-“

“Fuck this,” I hunch over and take off my heels, “Baby, watch my shoes.”

A 28-year-old drunk doesn’t know how to respond when they’re pinned to the ground. “I spent twelve fucking years listening to you and your group of fuckheads call me trash, worthless, fucking everything in the book and I’m sick of it. You want to talk trash on me, fine, but don’t you bring my family into this. I’m a Marine with ten years of service and a license to kill and bitch, I’ll make it look like an accident!” I tell her while punctuating my words with a throttle of the wrist. “Now, I’m going to let you go so I can get a beer. Maybe once you get the pine needles out of your cunt, you can come talk to me like a civilized human and I’ll show you a picture of Peeta’s and my daughter.”

I get up without warning. Again, no one says anything as Peeta hands me my black heels. I take his hands and we walk inside, “You’ll be lucky if they don’t call the cops.”

I shrug. “They’re so trashed; who’s going to believe them?”

After about four more beers, I actually do start having a good time. Peeta never lets go of my hand and I start associating more with Madge and her friend, Delly. They ask us about work but we can’t say much. Peeta says he works special cases for the FBI, while I help head the men and women protecting the President.

“Have you met him?” Delly asks, “Obama, I mean.”

I nod and polish off my fifth beer. “A few times. He’s nice, and his kids are damn cute.”

Then she treads onto thin ice. “How was Iraq?”

I bite my lip for a second before Peeta takes the reigns. “You know, one twenty in the day time with thirty pounds of gear or more bogging you down; fifty at night, everything crawling out of the sand at random times trying to kill you.”

“Like… people?”

“No… spiders, scorpions, ants and snakes.”

Peeta and I completely dodge the war part of our deployment. It’s unhealthy, but it’s something best left buried inside until it’s time for therapy or there are people present who actually understand and are ready to listen.

Peeta and I duck out pretty early. We’re used to having to wake up at five in the morning, so our bedtime and Riley’s are only minutes apart.

“Are you going to put your shoes on?” Peeta asks as I stumble on the uneven walk.

I shrug. “If I put them on, I’m going to end up face first on the sidewalk.”

“Hmm…” Peeta pulls me close, “I’d much rather you be on your back.”

Peeta and I don’t even think, we just spring into action. Well, maybe we do think and I’m too drunk to realize the thought process that leads us from walking back to his parents’ house to me seated on a stack of wooden pallets, Peeta’s jacket under my backside with my legs around his hips.

It’s quick, raw and dirty. It’s also something I never thought I’d be doing. Sex in public? Ten years ago, I was perfectly fine with never having sex again because I thought it would always be as awkward as Gale and I.

Peeta barely has his fly up when red and blue lights threaten to blind us. “Oh, come on…” I sigh.

Darius gets out of his squad car, looking entertained at what he’s found. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t little Katniss Everdeen corrupting the good boys of my town.”

I roll my eyes. “Darius, you know I’m married. If anything, this one is corrupting me.”

He shines his flashlight in both our eyes. “Have you been drinking? Smells like you’ve been drinking… are you even old enough?”

“Yeah, that’s why we’re walking home.”

“Well, we got a noise complaint. Said it sounded like two people fornicating. You two wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

_Busted…_

“We did hear something, but I’d pin it on my brother if anything. He and his wife live around here. You know how those first few years of marriage are…”

Darius nods slowly. “I do, I do. I’m still going to have to search your bag, little lady.”

I sigh and hand him my bag. In this town, my pedigree is enough probable cause to warrant a search.

“This is all your fault…” I tease as Deputy Darius searches through my purse, “You’re not going to find anything, Darius. You know I’m clean.” Drunk as a skunk, yes; holding, no.

“How is this my fault?” Peeta asks. He’s the one who decided that it was a perfect time to try and sneak in a quickie while drunkenly stumbling home from our ten year reunion, and we had to get caught afterwards while trying to get back to his parents’ house. 

Guess I’m having some of those crucial teenage experiences when I’m about to enter the better half of my thirties.

Darius lets us go. I have nothing, and there’s nothing in Peeta’s pockets except for a pocket knife and the keys to his parents’ house.

“And stay away from the Cartwright’s farm!” Darius hollers at us as we rush back to my in-laws.

“Like I’d risk it in these heels!”

* * *

“Here,” Grandma Sae says, handing me a handle of Wild Turkey. “Hair of the dog, you two look like shit!”

We feel like shit. Peeta and I try to avoid hangovers as much as possible, but when we got home we decided to enjoy our first night without Riley creeping into our bed. Peeta and I got out of our clothes, face planted and didn’t wake up until about ten.

It was amazing.

“Nah, we have a long drive ahead of us. There was a big break in the case Peeta’s helping with and they want him back at work tomorrow.”

Riley comes tearing into the room after a scruffy old cat I’ve never seen before. “Have you two ever heard of the shale?”

It’s made the news, but barely – a method for mining natural gas where they flood caverns with water. “A little,” Peeta says after scooping up our daughter. “Hey bunny, how are you?”

Riley doesn’t give a shit about Peeta and I. “Kitty!” she screams while trying to wiggle out of her father’s arms.

“What about it?” I ask while Peeta wrestles with the cat obsessed Riley.

“I’m selling the land… They’re paying thousands per acre, and we own from eleven to 29 and up to Moon Park.”

I don’t know how to feel about this. It’s the land I grew up running around on, the land that raised me and taught me how to survive. It fed me when money could not.

“I mean, we’ll keep the good hunting grounds and the stuff close to the house, but we’ll sell what's close to the county land.”

I nod.

“It’ll be good for us…” I hope she’s right.

* * *

Every day after I get home from work, I go through the same motions. I rarely have to get Riley from daycare so I head straight to the basement after taking the key to my gun case off the top of the door frame. I lock up my handgun before heading upstairs and replacing the key. I end up getting a short case for my handgun so I don’t lose it in the barrels of rifles and shotguns.

Every day, I change out of my uniform and into sweats and go for a run.

When I get home, I have a text from Peeta.  _I have to work late. Can you get Riley?_

I don’t even respond, since Peeta knows how much I hate driving into DC.  Instead of changing, I begrudgingly get in my car and make the painful trek back into the city.

I manage to get a spot in front of the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building and bump straight into Peeta, who has Riley in his hands. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Momma!” she squeals, grabbing at me.

“You texted me saying you had to work late, so I came to get bunny,” I tell him as he hands me our daughter.

Peeta shakes his head. “No…” He pulls his phone out and shows it to me. The last text message sent to me is a short one saying that he’s going to get in trouble if we keep sexting at work.

I dig through the pockets of my sweat shorts and show him the text. “Is this not you?”

“We should get home,” he tells me gravely. “Take Riley,” he kisses both our foreheads, “I’m going to go ahead.”

I don’t know what he’s thinking, or what I even think is happening for that matter, but I barely have Riley buckled in when Peeta’s black Expedition speeds by, blue lights flashing.

 _Cheater_.

I unfortunately get stuck in traffic, so when I get home, there’s a crowd in the cul-de-sac as well as four cop cars, parked just so I can’t park right.

“Peeta?” I call after I get Riley out of the car. Our entire neighborhood has gathered for the show, “Peeta!” I call louder.

“Ma’am,” an officer starts as I watch another leave my house. “This is a crime scene, you can’t-“

“The hell I can’t, that’s my house! Where’s my husband? Peeta!” I push past the cop, “Peeta!”

He’s surrounded by two officers, scratching at his head. “Katniss,” he breathes, pulling me to him. “Riley… Thank God you two weren’t home…”

“What happened?”

“Someone broke into our house…”

We’re questioned for a few minutes, and I show them the text I got from Peeta. Then we’re taken inside to see the damage. Our pictures have been torn from the wall and thrown to the ground, tables flipped and our CD and DVD collections strewn about the room. In our bedroom, the mattress has been flipped off the bed and our closets near emptied.

“Where’s the cat?” I ask, panicked. I make the hissing noise that seems to make him run. “Amal! Here, kitty kitty!”

Peeta finds him in a pillow case in Riley’s dresser. He’s the only change in the room.

Under the cops’ orders, we pack as many clothes as we can manage and set up home at the Abernathy’s until we can get into a hotel. “What the fuck were they looking for?”

“No idea, nothing’s missing just… everything’s destroyed,” Peeta tells Haymitch while I fight to get Riley a drink.

In his hands is our wedding picture; the glass cracked, dividing Peeta and I in two.

* * *

I can’t sleep the whole night and by 5am, I’m pulling on prison approved clothes. Marvel knew something was going to happen. He knows something, and I have to find out what.

“Where are you going?” Peeta yawns.

“I’m going into work early,” I lie, tying on my boots. I have to work until ten pm tonight to set some things in stone for a State Dinner. “Figure the sooner I get in, the sooner I can get home.” I figure I’ll likely end up at work anyway, or in a holding cell for assaulting a prison inmate.

The drive is too long, but Marvel is waiting for me.

“What do you know?” I snap the second he’s in the room and cuffed to the table. “You knew something was going to happen, what do you know?”

Marvel says nothing, he just smiles. “Answer me!” I scream, standing up, “Someone was in my house! They destroyed my things and they were in my baby’s room! Tell me what you know!”

I grab a fistful of his blue prison uniform. “Fucking tell me!” I scream, every inch of me trembling. He knew, he fucking knew. “What do you know!?” I shake again, “Fucking answer me, you coward!”

I’m escorted off the premises and told to not come back. I got nothing out of Marvel except for a spike in my blood pressure.

I should have seen this all as some clever plan, everything was just lining up too perfectly.

Especially when news breaks shortly thereafter that a federal inmate named Jacob Marvel was shot and killed by a fifty caliber rifle.

My outburst at the prison only makes me look more suspicious.


	52. War Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Chelzie for fixing my mistakes, to Ro Nordmann for the banner, and for my readers who have stuck with me this long.
> 
> [](http://imgur.com/jpWZ2gQ)   
> 

_June 2009_

_Peeta_

When I get home from work, Katniss isn’t at the Abernathy’s. They have no idea where she is, just that she walked out of the house as pale as a ghost about an hour ago.

I find her curled up in a ball in our basement, our safes wide open with each and every gun laying on the cement floor. She’s so small, like a child dressed in her father’s camo, curled up in the tightest ball she can manage. “Katniss?” I ask, rushing down the last few steps to get to her so I can pull her out of the dark hole she’s fallen into.

The second I lay my hands on her she jumps up, arms flailing to keep her balance. “It’s gone!” she cries, “My rifle is gone! The hidden key taped under the hall table is gone! How could we miss that!” Her eyes are red-rimmed, “We went through every fucking room in the goddamn house and just jiggled the doorknob and went, ‘yep, still locked!’” she shouts while getting off the ground.

“Take a deep breath…” I reach out for her but she goes back to putting the guns away. “You don’t know that it was your gun that killed him…”

Katniss shakes her head no. “What are the chances?” she asks dismally, “There is no such thing as coincidence, Peeta! Marvel writes me, tells me that I have enemies and to watch my back, our fucking house gets broken into, I confront him and he _dies_! Yeah, Peeta, random act of bullshit!”

After we seal our weapons, I pull her in for a hug. “It’ll be okay… I’m not going to let anything happen to you or Riley,” I pat her sweaty hair down. “I told you I’d protect you even if it costs me my life,” I whisper, “That's still true.”

She doesn’t say anything.

* * *

We both wait for the day they match the bullet found in Marvel to the rifle owned by Katniss. We know it’s coming. Katniss still reports the rifle as stolen, but it doesn’t stop them from bringing her in the ‘hard way’.

When everything finally goes to shit, I’m barely in my office and don’t check my cell phone until well after lunch.

_Haymitch Abernathy: Why did the feds just escort your wife out of my base in handcuffs?_

I don’t respond, but instead drop the phone on my desk and rush to the interrogation room.

Word spreads fast throughout the building, everyone whispering as I pass. Katniss doesn’t do well when stressful things pile up on her, especially if they’re real world stressors. It still amazes me how she can handle any high stress life or death situation and brush it off like it’s nothing, but the second something happens back home, she’s in a tailspin. This will surely send her well over the edge.

“You can’t go in there,” one of my coworkers, Agent Greenwald, warns. I look through the two-way mirror at Katniss. She just looks so broken, staring at her still cuffed hands. I doubt they cuffed her like that, especially if they suspect her of murder with her background. She did that on her own and I feel a sense of pride though I’m sure Sullivan, the man interrogating her, can’t appreciate this learned skill as he questions my wife.

“Your file says you’re qualified to testify as an expert witness in high caliber firearms,” Sullivan starts.

Katniss nods, “That’s right.”

“And you’re a certified sniper?”

“And a countersniper,” she tells him.

“Why doesn’t she have a lawyer in there?” I ask.

“She hasn’t asked. She sat and stared for two hours until Sully told her there was enough evidence to get an arrest warrant. That he was doing you a favor by questioning her first.”

“Asshole…” I just have to watch; it won’t help Katniss’ case if I barge in.

Greenwald doesn’t move. “Now?” he scurries off, knowing better than to question me.

“So you’ve taken a life before?”

Katniss stiffens, “Yes.”

“Out of curiosity, how many?”

Katniss crosses her arms as best she can in the handcuffs. “More than one, but less than a hundred. All long range shots in the head, except for one.”

“Oh?”

“You want the story?” she sneers, “Like a gore loving savage?” Her pitch gets higher and higher with each word. “You want to know what it’s like to pull the trigger and end someone’s life? What it’s like on the inside?” she leans in, “The first one’s the hardest, a part of you _dies._ You spend hours, days, even weeks feeling like a monster knowing you ended the life of someone’s child, someone’s parent, their lover, their _soulmate_ ,” I watch as Katniss relaxes a little. “It never gets easier, but I had a job to do; every kill was someone who threatened the safety of the people beneath me.”

“So you missed one day.”

Katniss is slipping away mentally with each question, but I can’t intervene… and watching her break apart at the seams is killing me.

“I never miss, never,” she tells Sully. “Do you think they’d let someone have my job if I couldn’t hit my target basically blind?”

Katniss leans forward and laces her fingers together, covering her mouth with her bent fingers. “Sometimes bad things happen to good people,” she mumbles. “I watched… well I didn’t watch, but someone once took the ground from underneath my feet, put a burlap sack over his head and made threats of his execution. So I fought for him and while we were trying to save him and the other POW’s, I ended up in a bad spot with someone’s arm around my neck trying to strangle me. My now husband took my jammed rifle and shot to, well… disable. It worked, but he ended up with a round in his femur after the fucker retaliated…” Katniss squeezes her eyes shut. “I watched the color drain from his face and before I could stop myself, I drove my knife through the man’s heart and watched the life leave his body.”

No one says a word. “Is that enough for you, Agent Sullivan? Enough to wet your palate for war stories? The only lives I’ve taken have been for my country. I’m held to a much more stringent code of honor than someone who would murder someone else in cold blood. A defenseless human being like a coward.”

“Every life you took was to protect someone?”

She nods.

“Would you protect your family? Your husband and daughter?”

“With my life.”

“Someone breaks into your home, destroys it, when your child could very well be there, someone who may have been led there by the victim. You were seen at the prison assaulting a man in handcuffs. A brave individual wouldn’t attack someone who couldn’t defend himself.

“He murdered a child, tried to blow me up. That man wasn’t harmless…”

_Fuck… Katniss, shut up! You’re giving him motive!_

“So there was animosity between you two?”

“I hadn’t talked to him until I got a letter from him a few weeks ago. Any bad blood between us was washed away, it was irrelevant.”

“Yet, you have no alibi for the date of his murder. The day he was shot, while in prison, by a rifle registered to you. The day after your home was broken into, after he ‘warned you of enemies.’ This isn’t looking good for you, Mrs. Mellark.”

Each and every word breaks Katniss a little more; she slumps in her chair and pulls her hands into her lap.

“I… want…” her voice starts over the speaker. “I want to go home…” Every last ounce of energy leaves her body, her lower lip quivers like it usually does when she’s about to lose it. “I didn’t do anything… I just wanted to visit my father on the day he died… I do it every year… I put lilies on his grave because of my mother.”

“Yet there’s no one who can say you were there. You didn’t tell anyone where you went, you didn’t go with anyone, you didn’t-“ I can’t take it anymore and push Greenwald out of the way.

Sullivan jumps when the door slams into the wall. “Get out,” I growl, “Take a break and get the fuck out!” He listens without question.

I wait until the room is empty to approach my wife. “Katniss? Can I see your hands?”

It livens her up once the warm metal is on the table. “He didn’t like when I got them in front of me. I told him I didn’t need to be cuffed, but he said it was for ‘my own protection’…” She reaches out with her bone cold hands and latches onto my shirt. I sit next to her and she climbs into my lap.

“How long have you been here?”

She laughs nervously, “They came into my office at nine fifteen. We got here just before ten…”

I check my watch, it’s 2:30. She’s been in custody for over four hours. “Why don’t you have a lawyer in here?”

“Because I didn’t do anything. They keep accusing me but I wasn’t… I didn’t…”

I reach for the file and read it over her shoulder while keeping one arm around her as she becomes more alert to her surroundings.

“Look… see?” she says when I get to autopsy pictures, “He was hit in the shoulder and in the thigh…” She climbs out of my lap, “This was someone out of his or her league playing with toys, and their breath control is horrible.”

She sits in the chair next to me. “This isn’t a one shot, one kill situation. The first bullet shattered his shoulder blade,” she reads, ignoring the medical jargon. “Then the second shot nicked his femoral artery. It’s not like a shot to the head or a shot to the heart, Peeta. Marvel didn’t see this coming, but he knew he was going,” her voice cracks, “He fought… Maybe he died because he told me too much… but he _fought_ to survive.”

On paper, Katniss has been caught red handed. The rifle is one of a kind, registered to her. The only thing they need is the smoking gun, but it was stolen. “Katniss… they could very well take you into custody tonight… Is there _anything_ you can think of that would provide an alibi? Did you go to the bank, or use your credit card anywhere?”

Her brow furrows as she stares at Marvel’s dead face in the picture. I close the file as she speaks, “Flowers… I bought flowers, but you took the last of my cash so I had to use my debit card.” Her face lights up, “I was there at eleven; Marvel was shot at twelve thirty. I couldn’t have made that drive even if I sped.”

I grab her by the shoulders and kiss her half-open mouth. “What do you want for dinner tonight? I’m going to get them to run your bank account information. They can’t even say that the charge was from me. I was here.”

“A tranquilizer and a bottle of wine.”

I roll my eyes and kiss the crown of her head as I leave. _I think she’s joking…_

* * *

_Katniss_

“Alright, you’re free to go,” Sullivan tells me, setting a picture of me kneeling at my father’s grave on the table. “Unless this isn’t you?”

I can see the jagged pink scar on my thigh where my shorts rode up. “That’s me… who took this?”

“On his request we can’t release his name, but this combined with your bank statement clears your name. Sorry for any inconvenience.”

I get up and put my jacket back on. “No offense, but I hope you get suspended,” I snap as I walk to my husband’s office.

I rap on the glass wall separating him from the hall. “Knock, knock…” I call with all the energy I can find, but it’s a meek, defeated voice that I hardly recognize. “I drove in with Haymitch today and… can I just sit in here until you go home?”

Peeta nods with the phone still at his ear and points to a chair next to one of his filing cabinets with a stack of files about one and a half Riley’s high.

“Yeah, yeah… Listen, I have to go. Something came up and I’ll be out of the office this evening. If you need something, Sully’s going to be pushing papers for a few days, so call him.” He hangs up without saying goodbye, “I haven’t actually seen you in camo for a while.”

I don’t know why, but this makes me blush. “When are you going to be ready to leave?” I ask, desperate to get home.

“Give me fifteen minutes?”

I nod, “I’m going to go outside and get some fresh air.” I should go get Riley and just hold her, but I need space from everyone.

“Sure, I’ll get the brat after I’m done with this and meet you outside. Don’t go to the parking garage, it’s dark. Get some sunlight.”

I sit on the steps of the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building for just under ten before being tackled by my two year old. “Hey, baby…” I whisper, cradling her, “Momma missed you so much today…”

She looks just as exhausted as I feel and I’m not sure who falls asleep first.

Peeta and I check into a hotel room that night. With the entire Abernathy herd back in the house, there’s no room for us and it’ll still be over a week before our house is livable again.

Under Haymitch’s direct orders, I start using up some of my sick days to get my brain functioning again. Peeta wakes up at 6:45 each day and coaxes me out of bed long enough to shower, brush my teeth and get something in my stomach. I climb into Riley’s bed at 7:30 and cuddle her as the cat tries to compete for my affection. Peeta and Riley leave for the day no later than 8:15 and I go back to sleep until 11. At 11:30, the cleaning lady comes by. Because of this unshakable routine that tries to interrupt my ‘stay in bed all day’ plan, on the fourth day in the room, also my second day off from work, when there's a knock at the door, I unhinge the lock and open the door without hesitation.

Two strong hands shove me into the room. “Don’t scream,” a voice cautions, “It’ll only make things worse for you.” He hasn’t changed a bit since that day in the courtroom; his hair is still short, the only differences are the haggard look on his face and the wild look in his eyes.

“Cato…” I gasp, trying to scramble to my feet. The only gun in this room is my handgun, which is in the safe. There’s no way I can get it to defend myself without him stopping me. “What… what do you want?”

“How many years apart… and this is how you greet me? Not even a ‘Hi, how are you? You look good considering you just got out of prison?’”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a handgun. _Please, let it be quick…_ I think as he takes aim. “I’m not going to kill you…” he coos, each and every word making my skin crawl. He says it like he means to be seductive as he points a gun in my direction.

“It doesn’t look like that from where I’m standing.”

Cato shrugs. “I guess… so get on your knees and put your hands behind your head. You’re not going to die today… but I’m going to have some _fun_ with you first.” I’m in no position to object, not unless I want another hole in my body. “But turn away…” I sink to the scratchy carpet and place my hands behind my head. The cool gun barrel presses against the nape of my neck.

“So how’d you miss that shot?” I ask coyly. “For someone who was walking around Fallujah like he was hot shit… you shouldn’t have missed that badly,” The gun clicks, “Testy… testy… it’s an honest question.”

“You’re pretty fucking chatty considering the position you’re in,” he says, his boot pressing into my back sends me to the ground. It’s not off me for long, as he keeps me pinned to the ground with his foot.

“What can I say? I’ve gotten out of worse places than this… just can’t think of one right now. But tell me… why are you here?”

I look up, spitting out the hair that’s stuck to my tongue. “We’re going to play a little game over the next few months, Katniss. I’m not going to kill you or your husband… yet. But we’ll get to that in a few minutes. Let’s talk… speaking of your husband…”

“What about him…?”

“It’s funny how you two swore under oath you weren’t involved, then a year later you’re married and now you have a little brat of your own. What’s her name… Riley?” He smiles and digs his heel into my back until my spine pops from the pressure. In any other instance, it would feel good. “Cute little brat, looks just like you… except she’s missing the ice bitch routine.”

“Guess she gets that from her Dad!” I spit.

Cato sighs. “You two… you were very hard to find. I had to have Marvel send letters to your house in Jacksonville, and in DC, until you finally responded.”

“So why’d you kill him?” I ask. “He’s in prison, whole lot of good he’s going to do there…”

“I had to tie up loose ends, though I didn’t pull the trigger.”

“Who?” I ask as he presses harder into my back, making it difficult to breathe.

“You’ll know soon enough…” He takes his foot off my back and lifts me off the ground by my shirt.

Cato sets his gun down and straightens out my shirt to protect what ever modesty I have left. “Now, back to our game, Katniss…” I back up, trying to get some space between us. “I know your ATM pin is your daughter’s birthday, and the code to your garage is your wedding anniversary. I know every doctor you, your daughter, and your husband see, your medications… I know all of that. But I found this the most hilarious – your husband filed for divorce while you were in Iraq, but you two reconciled. I know you’re afraid of loud noises and it can send you into a panic attack to see or hear fireworks because of a white phosphorous attack in Iraq. I know your husband can’t have his eyes covered by anyone but you because it sends him into a blind rage…”

“I know that every few months you pass on promotions because of ‘personal reasons’, most likely because of your father!”

I cringe. “What good is this?” I ask, taking another step back, but he takes another step closer until I’m pinned against the window and he’s up against me. “Why do you know all of this?”

He rests his hands on my shoulders and presses me into the warm glass. “Like I said, we’re going to play a game. Everyone you love, everyone you come in contact with… they’re my pieces and they’ll play with their beating hearts. I’m going to destroy you and your husband’s lives piece by piece for what you two did to me. And only when everything in your life is broken beyond repair, only when everything looks hopeless and you two succumb to defeat will I pull the trigger and end your existence like the good man I am.”

I know I have to stop him so I act before I think. His nose cracks when my forehead hits it; he jerks back and I scramble for the gun, but two pin pricks hit my back and everything starts burning as my muscles stop and I’m sent to the ground. I start to hear my pulse in my head as the fire starts again and I scream.

Everything is numb and cold even though seconds ago I was on fire.

“You fucking cunt!” he spits before rolling me to my back. He throws something down with wires attached; a stun gun, I think. Then his hands are at my neck, cutting off my oxygen supply as he sits across my hips. “Maybe I’ll just kill you now and let _Mellark_ live with knowing his bitch could have lived if he'd just kept his fucking mouth shut,” he says as the world starts getting fuzzy. Something wet hits my face and drops into my eyes and mouth.

 _Blood…_ I think as my mind starts slipping, _my blood?_

“You could have just died!” he shouts, but he’s miles away. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you had just died!”

I hear Peeta scream my name as everything stops all at once.

Then it starts all over again, but I’m not in the hotel room. I’m in Arlington on a foggy day. I trudge up a hill through rows and rows of graves trying to find my way out of the fog, but the journey takes everything out of me and I drop at the base of a mighty Army sycamore.

“Am I dead?” I ask, “I can’t be… this has to be in my head. If I was dead, there would be-“ I feel myself being ripped from where I’m lying, from wherever my mind is residing.

_Don’t let go._

_Stay with me._

I vaguely make out Peeta’s face in my mind.

_Yes, good, look at me. Don’t look away. Look into my eyes._

The voice is so monotone, and every second, it gets further and further away.

_Don’t let go… Don’t let go…_

And nothing.

_Clear!_

_Momma!_

I’m back in the misty hills of the cemetery.

“That’s not my decision,” a voice says from behind me, “Or yours.”

I jump to my feet. “Daddy!” I throw myself at him, “I… I don’t understand. Where am I?”

He smiles. “Arlington. You’ve been here enough…” he tells me while holding me close. “My girl… you’ve grown. When I left, you could barely ride a bike because your feet couldn’t reach the ground.”

“And Gale pushed me down a hill and I fell into Sae’s fence.”

I look up at him, not ready to leave his embrace. “Ten stitches in the palm of your hand. You cried because it meant you couldn’t fish anymore…”

I nod. “Gale wouldn’t leave me alone about it for weeks.”

“How is he, Gale?”

I pull back. “Married, has a kid. Prim’s married, too… and Mom…”

Dad smiles, “Took her long enough… let’s walk…”

We walk by grave sites I’ve passed hundreds of times, though the ones closest to me are brought to the front with Dad and Finnick dead center.

I stare at Finnick’s grave, fresh and new without any wear from the weather. “I can’t stay here…” I tell my father, “I have to go back, I have my daughter. I can’t… I don’t want her to live without one of her parents. I can’t leave Peeta…”

I try to spot any gates or obvious exits, but find nothing but headstones stretching into eternity. “You know… I had to leave my wife and kids against my will once… then again,” he looks around, “It was a lot warmer when I came here, though.”

I sigh. “Well, that was eighteen years ago... so the weather was bound to change.”

I flop down in front of their graves and out of nowhere, a blank one appears. “Guess that’s for me…”

My Dad shakes his head. “No… It’s not. I forbid it. I missed your rebellious teen years. Give me just this one.”

He sits next to me and holds me in his arms. “Sure, Daddy…” he kisses the top of my head.

He sighs again. “Hell, I missed you bringing a boy home from a war zone…”

I pick at the grass. “I didn’t bring him home, Daddy, he…” I’m stumped, “He helped me build a home around us, if that makes any sense.”

“A whole world’s worth of sense…”

It begins to drizzle, though I’ve never felt warmer. The sun starts burning through the fog and as we sit in silence, a gate appears. “It’s time for you to go home, bunny.”

“Yeah…” I whisper as tears prick my eyes. “Is this the last time I’m going to see you?” I ask.

Dad shakes his head. “We’ll meet up again, but it’d better not be for another sixty years. That’s another thing I forbid.” I smile and try to laugh it off. Dad straightens out my clothes, "I’m so proud of you, Katniss, of everything you’ve done. For filling my shoes after my death… For climbing an almost impossible ladder. You’re so strong… A father couldn’t have a better daughter even if he tried. And Prim. A doctor?” he sighs, “Your Mom and I did well,” he brushes off invisible dirt from my shoulder as a tear runs down his cheek. “Tell your mother to stop worrying, her being happy and in love makes me happy. Tell Prim to not worry. Wherever the road takes her, she’ll be ready for it…”

I nod and Dad kisses my forehead. “And you… never lose sight of what’s in here…” he tells me, pressing the tip of his finger to my heart. “Things aren’t going to be easy, Katniss, but never give up hope.”

He squeezes me. “I love you so much, bunny…”

He starts to fade and I hold tighter. “I love you too, Daddy…” I cry before he fades into the blazing sun and I’m all alone in Arlington.

I head in the only direction that makes sense; the gate opens for me and everything is warm again.

* * *

A little arm is tight around my middle. When I can finally open my eyes, everything hurts but I still need to check that Riley is in bed with me. There are cords everywhere, under my shirt and in my nose. I try and sit up, but even that’s difficult. Instead I tilt my head, my eyes watering at the pain. “Peeta…” I whisper, my voice almost gone. I wiggle my pinkie, which is looped with his. My limbs are so heavy, like they’re filled with lead. Finally, something wakes Peeta and his eyes light up when he sees I’m at least alive.

“Katniss…” he breathes, pulling me into a hug which wakes Riley. “I was so afraid… I just…”

“Momma, you’re done sleeping!”

“Cato?” I whisper while stroking her hair.

Peeta sits down as Riley curls up against me. I lull her back to sleep with my fingers in her curls. “It was either chase after him or… start CPR on you. You weren’t breathing, and your lips, they were blue. He ran when I put my head to your chest and your heart had stopped. Paramedics brought you back, but… you died on me.”

I wince; he sounds so guilty. “It’s not your fault…” I tell him. “I let him in...” I can barely get my voice above a whisper, “I egged him on, I hit him…”

“You probably broke his nose. They’re trying to locate him, Katniss… but he hasn’t had any activity on his bank account in two months, and he has no address… it’s a manhunt. They’re checking hospitals.”

I look out the window at the sun high in the sky. I guess I’ve been out for at least a night. He’s out there somewhere, waiting.


	53. Seven-Six-Two, Full Metal Jacket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgur.com/CjMfx2f)   
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> Trigger warning: Suicide related themes.

_June 2009_

_Peeta_

Katniss gets this wrinkle between her eyebrows when she’s thinking now; she’s very self-conscious about it. She says that normal 28 year olds don’t get wrinkles.

After two days in the hospital, they finally let her go. All Katniss wants to do is be outside, but we have a job to do. “Don’t get that wet,” I caution as Katniss kneels in front of the World War II Memorial with a calculator, the packet of specs that came with her rifle and a map.

She catches everyone’s eyes as she works, like a chip in the city’s ‘flawless’ veneer. Once she finishes working, we’re heading out to Cumberland County to hopefully find the right ‘foxhole’ as she’s calling it. She’s in full camo, ready for a hike.

In the country’s seat of power, where the guys in suits move the pawns in camo around to where they’re the most useful, it’s an odd and cruel reminder to see someone who looks like they’re ready for war minus the gun, helmet, and bulletproof vest.

“So why did you want to come to the biggest tourist trap in the city?” I ask while she works. Sullivan and Greenwald told me to find a ballistics expert, and honestly there is no one better than her.

“Cato won’t make a move on us while were in public, I think, or at least not in this crowded of a place. He might be… psychotic, but he’s still a coward.” She folds up the map and hands it to me, “I'd say we’re in for at least a five mile hike. Looks like Sullivan is going to work off all that extra weight,” she teases before hooking her pinky with mine as we walk back to the J. Edgar Hoover Building to start our two hour journey. 

* * *

“Haymitch is going to pick up Riley,” she tells me when she hangs up the phone. “He also says, ‘Don’t contract out my lieutenants without my god damned permission.’”

I roll my eyes, “I left him a post-it note on his desk when I got the shit out of your desk.”

She smirks, “What did it say?”

“Katniss is out of the hospital. Using her as an expert witness. Can you pick up our kid?”

She laughs quietly before going silent; the only noise in the car is from the radio telling us about the constant congestion on the Beltway and a shooting in the rougher part of the city.

She even stays uncharacteristically quiet throughout most of the walk to where she’s mapped the site of the shooting to be; that is, until my phone starts buzzing.

 _New Text Message From: Blocked,_  the screen reads. Katniss’ hand goes clammy. “What does it say?” she asks, holding onto my hand for dear life.

_I’m ready to make my first move, are you ready to counter? It’s strange to move your queen this early in the game. Are you sure you’re willing to sacrifice her?_

“Cato?” she asks as I shield the text from her. The last thing I need is her freaking out that she’s in Cato’s sights again.

“Yeah, he’s ready to start his game…” I tell her. I can’t keep secrets from her at a time like this.

Katniss draws her gun. “Good, maybe he’ll come out of his fucking hole so I can place a round right between his eyes,” she growls.

“What’s going on?” Sully asks as I use my arm to push Katniss behind me. I’m not losing her, not again.

“Just the psycho who put me in the hospital making idle threats,” she replies coolly. “So if I were you, I’d take out your guns…”

“I wish he’d just shoot us now,” Greenwald starts, “Stop jerking us around.”

My phone buzzes again,  _Blocked: Be careful what you wish for._

Katniss walks around me, trying to lead. “Katniss, get behind me,” I order, and she stops to turn and face me. “Just do this for me. We’re in the middle of nowhere, you’re not in the best condition, and I’m not watching you get loaded into an ambulance again.”

Katniss’ shoulders slump. She opens her mouth to argue, but chooses not to. We move on, waiting for an attack that never comes. “The site is up ahead,” Katniss says as we exit the forest. There’s one last hill to climb and still no shots fired. The second we’ve cleared the tree line, a hot gust of wind blows, carrying with it the pungent smell of decay.

I look up towards the sky where vultures are circling. “There’s something dead up there.”

Katniss moves around me and I know I should stop her. I know I should tell her to wait, but I don’t. I follow her and with every step, the smell gets stronger. It’s nauseating, like the dumpster behind the butcher’s shop back home in late August only with an underlying hint of sweetness.

“Oh fuck…” Katniss says with her hands over her mouth as she stops dead in her tracks.

The smarter Sullivan and Greenwald stayed at the bottom of the hill. “Call in a forensics team. We have a body up here.”

A few days ago, maybe the body looked like it was sleeping; but now that bloat has set in, she looks like a nightmare. Every inch of her skin is purple, waxy and looks stretched. Flies have invaded the eyes, mouth, and nose, along with the bullet hole in the back of her blonde head.

“Peeta, you don’t think…” Katniss takes a step closer and circles around to the head. “Peeta, we know her. This is Dina Glimmer.”

My phone buzzes,  _Blocked: Your move._

* * *

_August 2009_

_Katniss_

Once we found Glimmer’s body, Cato went quiet. For a while, it was like we could forget the threat over our heads and live a normal life. My bruises faded, and Glimmer’s body was returned to her parents, who had reported her missing a month prior to us finding her remains.

Clove is missing, too and right now is assumed to be an accomplice in Cato’s psychotic rampage that seems to have fizzled out. I very openly hope that he got hit by a car.

“I’m sorry it took this long for us to meet up,” Beetee apologizes as I join him and his wife, Wiress, for lunch. “I was called to Germany again. You know how these things are.”

“You’re working on drones now, right? My husband was telling me that they’re the new thing.”

Beetee nods, “Yes, but for the most part, my work is classified. You understand, right?”

I nod. “I heard the rifle you were testing was stolen, and used to kill a man.”

“Yes, but my husband and I still don’t understand how the person knew I had it. The information on the rifle was classified.”

Beetee sighs, “Yes, and your husband has already asked if there have been any break-ins at my lab. There hasn't.”

“In this city, not everyone’s loyalty is to their country, Katniss,” Wiress reminds me. “Maybe this Cato guy has friends on the inside, people who are loyal to him first?”

I take a sip of my iced tea. “Who are you loyal to?” I ask Beetee.

He holds onto Wiress’ hand. “My wife, first and foremost, my country, and my friends.”

My phone lights up, the blocked number the FBI has been trying to track.  _Your turn’s over, my move_ , I read just as the window next to us shatters.

The glass sprays, turning the quiet restaurant into a borderline war zone. People scatter and duck under tables. Another window shatters just as a scream cuts through the air and I feel the table trapped in my white knuckled grip shake.

“Momma!” a child screams as my tunnel vision fades. “Someone call 911,” I hear myself say.

My lunch dates are gone from my sight. “Katniss!” Beetee calls. When I round the table, he’s pressing a white napkin to a bloody hole in Wiress’ shoulder. Though my tunnel vision is gone and my mind should be clear, I can’t act. I can barely move so I just observe, almost as though the chaotic scene is behind a pane of glass.

“You have to keep the pressure on it!” someone yells.

“Mommy! Why won’t my Mommy wake up?”

 _This happened because of me…_ My body goes clammy with the realization as my stomach flips. _Everyone I come in contact with is in danger, not just my family._

The only thing powerful enough to pull me out of my shocked state is my phone vibrating on the table.

_Blocked: Just remember that this happened because of you._

I kneel down beside Wiress as we wait for the ambulance to arrive. “I’m sorry,” I whisper while stroking her hair. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry…” Every inch of me starts going numb except for the stinging in my core at the realization that there are at least two virtual strangers fighting for their lives because of me.

 _I wouldn’t have to do this if you had just died…_  The thought echoes in my head.

_If I had just died._

_If I had just died…_

_Everyone would be safe, and all of this would stop… There would be no more targets on people’s backs if I were dead…_

It’s a simple solution that I lay awake pondering for the next two days.

Wiress is going to make it. The bullet shattered her shoulder blade, punctured her lung and broke a few ribs; but with surgery and physical therapy, she’ll gain most of the use back in her arm.

The other woman, a mother of three, was hit square in the heart. She didn’t even make it to the ambulance before bleeding out as her two children watched.

And it’s all because of me. So far, three people have died.  Well, three people that I know of; Clove could be rotting in a ditch somewhere because Cato no longer finds her useful.

Peeta knows I’m not sleeping, but he doesn’t know why. After this long, he’s learned to sleep through my insomnia most nights or I’ve just gotten better at hiding it. I kiss his forehead as I slip out of bed and head into Riley’s room.

She has her stuffed elephant, or ‘lelephant’ in a death grip like hug and her mouth open to catch flies. She sleeps just like her father.

Riley doesn’t stir as the bed sags under my weight. She’s so fresh and new to the world, so untainted. I have to keep it that way. My disappearance from her life won’t go unnoticed. Posy Hawthorne wasn’t even born yet when her father went missing and still she knows there’s a spot in her heart that’s empty.

But she’s living, prospering.

Then there’s Peeta. Would he react to my death like my mother? Would he abandon our daughter in his grief or would he push through?

He would have to, I conclude, he couldn’t let my sacrifice go in vain. With me gone, who else would Cato have to torture like this?

Peeta’s strong, stronger than me. He thrives when I barely stay afloat.

I’m not ready to die. Yes, I’ve faced my own mortality several times before and have even come to terms with it, but I’m not ready to go. It’s not my choice; it would never be my choice, but sacrifices have to be made. To protect everyone I love, even people I’ve never met, I have to die.

“I love you, baby…” I sob as I lay down next to my daughter for the last time. I’ve decided to do it in the morning after Peeta takes Riley to daycare and heads to work.

I think I fall asleep, but I wake up with every little noise and movement out of Riley. Finally, I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to our bed. I want to spend my last hours alive with the two people I love most in the world.

Peeta wakes just long enough to realize what I’ve done. He scoots closer and throws his arm over both of us, holding us as close to him as possible. Still I refuse to sleep, I want to remember every moment of these last few hours. I want to hold onto this as I put a bullet in my skull for them so maybe, if there's a heaven or a hell, they’ll take pity on me for taking my own life, knowing it’s for a noble cause.

Yes, noble, that’s what this is.

I must drift off eventually because when our alarm goes off and I open my eyes, the world is grey. I hover over Peeta and Riley as the three of us get ready. I have to pretend that this is a normal day. Peeta would never let me go through with this plan if he knew, and I couldn’t kill myself with Riley in the house.

“Do you need a ride into work? We’re a little early,” he tells me as I sip my coffee very slowly.

I shake my head no. “Haymitch is giving me a ride in,” I lie while trying to clean squashed banana off of Riley’s fingers. “Honey, if you’re just going to play with it, Daddy won’t give you banana anymore.”

She looks at me, confused. “But I like it,” she reasons, “It’s goopy!”

I sigh and look up at Peeta. I don’t eat anything, as I’m too nervous to even think about it. Instead, I make sure my family is ready for their day. It’ll only get harder from this point on, but then they’ll learn to deal.

They’ll learn to live without me just like I learned to live without my father.

Peeta’s strong and Riley is young; they’ll pull through the darkness.

I walk Peeta and Riley to the door still in my pajamas. “Drive safe, and have a good day at work,” I tell him, trying to pretend that this is a normal day.

He stoops down and kisses my nose and as he turns to leave, I grab Peeta’s hand. “Peeta, I love you. Don’t ever forget that. Even if it’s not exactly clear because of my actions. I’ll never stop loving you, both of you.”

Peeta stares at me for a second and in that moment, I think he’s onto me. But he pulls me into a kiss, our last kiss.

Peeta holds me close as Riley digs her hands in my messy hair. “Everything I do,” I say into the broad expanse of his chest, “I do for you two.”

I kiss Riley on the cheek and let my lips linger on Peeta’s one more time. “Now I have to get ready for work,” I tell them and dart upstairs before I do something stupid like cry in front of them.

I wait a few minutes after hearing the garage door shut before moving.

Step one – I have to leave a note. I can’t let Peeta think that Cato came in here and popped me off while he was at work, and I can’t leave Riley without one last bit of me.

Or Prim. Can I really do this to Prim? No, this _is_ for Prim.

_I know what I've done is hard to understand, but it’s to protect all of you. With me out of the way, you’re safe._

_Never forget that I love you._

I don’t sign my own suicide note; I keep it simple and sweet. How much can I honestly say?

The door to my gun safe opens with a creak. With an assortment of firearms to end my life with, I choose the one that feels the most natural in my hand, my handgun. Simple, yet predictable.

I release the magazine and load one bullet into it before pulling it out again.

“Is this the only option?” I ask myself, rolling the cold round between my fingers and pacing the basement.

 _If you just died…_  echoes in my head again and I know, I just know there’s no hope. Yes, it’s a gamble, but it’s something I have to do. It’ll be better, eventually.

I slide the round back in the magazine. Where to do it… the temple? The mouth? I keep my finger out of the trigger guard as I test both spots, cringing as the cool metal touches my sensitive skin, the smell of lubricant and the taste of bitter grease invading my senses.

I flick the safety off and decide that through the mouth would be the best option. I keep the gun there, my finger flirting with the trigger.

 _You can do this, it’s for them. Don’t chicken out, it’s selfish. Three people died because of you, and Wiress nearly lost her arm. It’s selfish for you to be alive,_ I tell myself just as the basement door swings open.

“Holy fuck, Katniss! STOP!” Peeta shouts, thundering down the stairs. I look past him, where Riley stands at the top of the stairs. “Katniss, put the damn gun down!”

I pull the barrel out of my mouth. “I can’t do this anymore!” I sob, “Why did you come home!?”

Peeta pulls the loaded gun out of my hand and locks it away while I stand in the middle of the dimly lit basement. “I knew I had to…” he pulls me in for a hug, “Baby… what were you _thinking_?”

I don’t say anything as my scattered brain tries to organize my thoughts. When I think it’s starting to make sense, my knees give out but Peeta’s strong arms support me. “He said he had to do this because I lived… I was giving him what he wanted…” I whisper as Peeta scoops me up into his arms and carries me up the stairs.

Riley holds tightly onto her elephant and I have to look away in shame.

I can’t look at either of them as Peeta gets on his phone, probably to have me committed. I want to tell him I’m not suicidal; it was to protect him, but I can’t speak even as my daughter curls up in my arms.

“Mommy, are you sad?” When I don’t respond, she gets up on her knees and starts pushing on my shoulders. “Mommy? Mommy, please!” she begs. “You’re not asleep, your eyes are open!”

I just stare at her and  _try_  to respond, but I can’t. Maybe I actually did pull the trigger and this is my hell.

“Mommy, was I bad?” Riley cries, “I’m sorry, Mommy!” Finally, I break and pull her in for a hug.

“I love you,” I sob, “You’re perfect, baby… you didn’t do anything wrong…”

I hold her and cry until Peeta pulls our daughter from my arms. “Is Mommy sick, Daddy?” she asks.

Peeta nods slowly. “Mommy is very sick, and right now you need to go over to the Abernathy’s while Mommy and Daddy talk,” Peeta points at me as he leaves. “Don’t you even  _dare_  get up from that couch!” he tells me in a tone I’ve never heard before.

But he’s there and back before I know it, pacing in front of me. “What the fuck were you thinking, Katniss?” he pleads, expecting an answer. I sit up, but don’t say anything. “I don’t know what to do, Katniss. I don’t know if I should have you committed or…” he runs his hands through his hair before pulling off his suit jacket and throwing it on the armchair.

“I don’t want to die!” I shout, “But people are dying because I’m alive! Don’t you get it? I don’t have a choice!”

Peeta rushes to my side and kneels in front of me, holding my hands in his. “You do have a choice. We’re going to find Cato before he hurts anyone else. He’ll make a mistake and we’ll find him. I promise.”

“He killed a woman right in front of me, Peeta. A woman I’d never met because he was aiming for Wiress and fucking missed. It’s so easy for you,” I snap, “He’s fucking up everything I touch but leaving you alone. What ‘moves’ has he made against you except for some paperwork?”

“He’s hurting you and it’s destroying me, Katniss. Don’t you understand? He can’t hurt Riley without us hunting him to the ends of the earth. Let’s be honest, he’s not going up to Pennsylvania to fuck with my family, so he’s going to hurt you to hurt me… and you’re letting him win.”

Peeta flips my hands over and rubs his fingers along the inside of my forearms and my open palms. “Do you trust me, Katniss?” he asks.

I nod slowly. “With my life…” I whisper.

“Then trust me when I say that I will find him and he’ll pay for what he’s done. Can you do that?”

I nod a second time. “Good,” he says, “But please, never  _ever_  scare me like that again. You know what it’s like to grow up missing a parent. Please don’t do that to Riley, especially on a gamble. She can’t lose both of her parents.”

“Both?” I ask.

Peeta kisses my cheek. “I don’t think I have it in me to go on for very long if I were to lose you like that…”

I don’t say a word, because what can I say?

After sitting in the silence for a few minutes, Peeta stands. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. I’ll run you a bath to help you relax.” It’s his go-to with me because somehow it actually works.

“Can you get in with me?” I ask.

We spend a good two hours just sitting in the warm water. Occasionally I’ll cry, other times he’ll cry and bury his face in my neck to try and hide it.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, “You don’t have to be strong in front of me.” He nods slowly, his face still buried in my neck. In the silence, he breaks and lets out one defeated sob.

I bring my hand up and stroke his hair, trying to be strong for him; but soon enough, I’m crying, too.

_How could I be so stupid?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there’s two more chapters after this. :D Isn’t that exciting? Wait, maybe three, and an epilogue. I’m excited.
> 
> Thank you Chelzie for fixing my errors big and small.
> 
> See you all next chapter.


	54. Check

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second to last, or third to last chapter. I'm not counting the epilogue because well... why would I? The next chapter will be the last with plot, the one after that will basically just be fluff and smut to make up for what I'm about to do. 
> 
> [If you're interested, I did a final fancast for the fic including Peeta, Katniss, Riley and the cat (because why not?)](http://falafelwaffel.tumblr.com/post/46484035496/i-still-havent-updated-semper-fidelis)
> 
> Thank you Chelzie for polishing this up, and hopefully helping me with my Chapter 55 issue though you know me girl, I'll freak about it even as I post the chapter. 
> 
> Thank you Fairmellarky for previewing this chapter just so I could estimate the hate I might get. 
> 
> Thank you Ro Nordmann for the banner.
> 
> And thank you readers for sticking with me this long. 

_September 2009_

I spend every moment I can with Riley and Peeta, not knowing what the next day will bring and which day will be our last. Peeta says that Cato has been leaving clues but they always lead to dead ends. Peeta has been working himself half to death trying to free us of this oppression, but with every lead leading to a dead end, it starts to look hopeless.

“Aunt Prim!” Riley screams, hopping from the couch to the loveseat and then to the hardwood. This week, she’s decided that the carpet is lava.

Prim is rubbing her temples. “I hate my new neighbors! They’re always playing rock music during the day until late at night, and they’re filthy. White boot prints heading in and out of their place, all over the carpet in the hallway…” she complains while picking Riley up. “Hey, pumpkin…” Prim doesn’t know what I tried to do; no one but Peeta and I know and we want to keep it like that.

“Where’s the old man?”

“Last I heard, he's on his way home…” I tell her. Prim makes her way into the living room but Riley starts screaming in her ear about lava. “Riley Christine Mellark, we don’t yell in people’s ears!” I scold.

“But Momma, lava!”

Prim and I rarely have time for each other anymore so having her over for dinner is special. My daughter, however, tries to monopolize her time by dragging Prim up to her bedroom, leaving Peeta and I in the kitchen with a bottle of wine. “She gets that from you,” Peeta sighs while topping off my glass.

“Bullshit. I was the quietest kid; your Mom says you didn’t shut up when you were her age.”

Peeta smiles and blows into the top of the half empty bottle, making a foghorn noise. “No, I mean the born leader part. The endless determination…”

“The peeing in the bed?”

Peeta looks shocked. “Did you really?”

“No, but Prim did like a fiend.”

“What did I do?” she asks from behind me with Riley latched onto her front like a spider monkey.

“Wet the bed.”

Prim’s cheeks turn bright red. “Katniss, you swore you wouldn’t tell!” she gasps.

I take a large sip of wine. “Yeah, twenty years ago. I forgot. Sue me.”

Prim groans, “Here, take your little leech…”

* * *

“So I got my conceal/carry permit,” Prim announces halfway through dinner.

I look up from my plate, “Wait, what?” Prim could have said anything else and it would have been more believable; that she was growing wings, that she was pregnant, anything. “Do you know how to use it?”

“Rory has been taking me to a range every weekend since we got married. Now it’s just logical that I have some way to defend myself,” she tells us before biting into a carrot.

“Do you think you can do it?” Peeta asks. “If push comes to shove, can you pull the trigger?”

Prim shrugs, “I think so…”

I shake my head. “Prim, you can’t think. You have to know. You have to know if Cato targets you,” I look to Riley who is still and will hopefully forever be none the wiser to the danger she’s in, “You have to be able to K-I-L-L him without hesitation. He’s lethal, Prim.”

“I know,” she tells me.

* * *

Even though it’s still hot at night, Peeta comes to bed and immediately throws his leg over me. “She’s out like a light,” he tells me, reaching a hand over me to cup my breast. “So we should start practicing for kid number two…” Peeta and I agreed to live life like we still have decades instead of maybe weeks.

I roll onto my back. “You really want a second?” I ask, running a hand through his hair.

I know the answer to this, of course. “You know I do. I mean, just not right now.”

I push Peeta onto his back and climb on top of him. “Okay,” I tell him, smiling, “You want to practice, I’ll give you practice…”

Just like clockwork, I hear Riley’s feet hit the floor. “Ugh,” Peeta groans, “The second we try to fuck, she has a bad dream…”

I roll off of Peeta, who excuses himself as Riley enters and makes her home in between Peeta’s and my spots on the bed. “Baby, you can’t keep coming in here…” I tell her as she settles in.

“I know,” she says, sinking down under the covers. “But I was scared…”

When I lay back down, I pull her close. “I know…” I whisper, kissing the back of her head. “I love you, bunny…” She doesn’t respond, having already fallen asleep. I’m half tempted to carry her back to her room, but she’ll more than likely just come back. We want to set up boundaries to keep her from coming in here, but neither of us has the heart to tell her no.

Riley is already out when Peeta comes back to bed. “Katniss, we have to put a stop to this…” he whispers, climbing back into bed. He starts petting her messy head of curly hair. His tone says he doesn’t want her here, but in the dim moonlight he has that look on his face he always gives Riley when she’s not looking. It’s amazement, like he still doesn’t believe that she’s really here with us. “Tomorrow…” he tells me after kissing her forehead.

“Tomorrow…” I agree, but that tomorrow doesn’t come for a long time.

* * *

“Who has a baby shower outside?” I complain. One of the Stepford Wives is apparently pregnant and due in a few weeks. Naturally, I either missed the memo or forgot that someone told me. So towards the end of the last heat wave of the year, Peeta and I have to continue pretending to be normal. Our neighborhood has already moved on from the fact that our house was broken into. Little ADT signs pop up on everyone’s front lawn from time to time, even though the chances of any of their houses being broken into by the same person are extremely slim. Their paranoia, however, has been providing entertainment for Haymitch and myself for days. Peeta doesn’t see how funny this is to us.

“I didn’t even get a baby shower,” I remind him.

Peeta gives me that look as he rubs sunscreen on Riley’s face. Even though she has my complexion, she burns just as easily as he does. “No!” she complains, pushing his hand away.

“Riley, if you don’t let me finish, Santa’s going to be upset,” he tells her. We recently realized that this is a threat we can make when she’s being a brat. It’s cruel and flawless; she sits quietly while her Dad rubs sunscreen into her face and I try to get her shoes on.

At some point it was decided that because the host, or his wife, is pregnant, the rest of us can’t drink. It’s something that Haymitch finds unacceptable very quickly. “Who the fuck heard of a barbeque without fucking beer…” he grumbles while sipping on a Coke.

I wrestle with Riley, who just wants to go find her father, but he’s vanished. “Haymitch, she’s a sponge!” I shout, but he waves me off. “And it’s a baby shower.”

Haymitch shrugs, “A party’s a party. Oh, look at that, the wolves are descending.”

When I look over my shoulder, the Stepford wives are making a beeline for us. I hand him Riley, “Take her to go find Peeta.”

He rolls his eyes like I’m inconveniencing him. “Why?” he asks, standing up just as Riley squeals, pointing at something over his shoulder.

“So I have a reason to escape…” I whisper just as they approach. “Hi,” I greet with false happiness.  The soon-to-be mother is named Stephanie, who is apparently having the baby in an effort to save her marriage. I would comment, but Riley saved Peeta and I. “Wow, you’re huge!”

It’s so easy to talk to a pregnant woman and pretend to be interested. Ask them when they’re due, if it’s a boy or a girl, and what they’re naming it.

Stephanie rubs her stomach, “Yeah, we’re nearing the end.”

Cathy, Lisa, Maureen and Dianne, the other Stepford wives, watch everything I do. I still don’t quite fit in with them, but I doubt I ever will. Their eyes bug out of their head when the baby starts moving inside Stephanie. She grabs my hand to feel and I pull away like it’s made of fire. “You don’t want to feel the baby kick?” she asks with this judgmental smile on her face.

“I’ve felt enough baby kicks for one lifetime…”

God, I know I shouldn’t despise them this easily, but they’re so intolerable while I’m sober. They hover over their children, complain about their husbands, and gossip about everyone that crosses their fucking path. Nothing is good enough for these women if it isn’t designer brand or made by Vera Bradley.

Finally, my savior comes in the form of an ice cold bottle of beer. Cathy scoffs, “Excuse me, there was to be no alcohol.”

Haymitch rolls his eyes as I start chugging. For the time I’ve spent with these bitches, I’m about a case behind where I should be. “Sorry, we’re also celebrating Katniss’ inevitable promotion.”

I look behind him. “Where’s my kid?”

Haymitch shrugs, “Fuck if I know. Playing in traffic?”

I punch him as hard as I can manage in his arm. “Asshole!”

“Jesus woman, she’s with your husband, probably eating fertilizer in someone’s garage. They’re pretty sauced.”

I roll my eyes, “Wonderful, a party where you’re sober…” I turn to the women, “Sorry, I have to go find my daughter.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress, “She gets into everything…”

Once we’re out of earshot, I down the beer. “Thanks, and I’m sorry that I hit you.”

Haymitch rubs his arm. “I mean, it’s not like you actually know how to throw a punch or anything.”

I shake my head, chuckling before I grab his shirt collar. “Don’t fucking joke about Riley playing in traffic, asshole. I know where you sleep…”

* * *

As it turns out, Haymitch wasn’t joking when he said Peeta had gotten drunk. We excuse ourselves pretty early to get Riley to bed since she missed her nap today.

“You’re mad…” Peeta tells me from the couch after I head downstairs. Our house is so dark; the curtains have to be pulled at all times, making it feel like a prison.

“I’m pissed,” I clarify, heading straight into the kitchen. “Peeta, there’s a man out there who wants us dead. What if he came here right now? Could you defend yourself? Or Riley? Or me?” He stands up and follows me, stumbling a little. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as I fill a glass with water, anything to get him back to normal. Drunk Peeta is an idiot.

“You need to loosen up,” he sighs.

“When Cato is dead or behind bars, I’ll loosen up. But until that day comes, I can’t…”

I hand him the glass but he lets it slip through his fingers and it shatters on the ground. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I groan, “Just go. Go sit in the living room, or whatever before you step on glass and I have to drive you to the hospital.”

He listens as I start collecting shards of glass and put them in the jagged base of the cup. A chair from the kitchen table squeaks loudly when he drags it out to sit down. “We never have sex anymore,” he tells me. “Do you still find me attractive?” he asks as I set the collection of broken glass on the counter.

“Of course, it’s just hard to actually want sex when there’s someone out there who wants both of us dead.”

“You’re still hot as hell, even hotter than when we first got married, if I do say so myself.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, trying to entertain him. The cat comes by as I wipe up the water, his tail flicking my nose.

“Because I know you and I make beautiful babies.”

“You’re really stuck on this kid thing, aren’t you?”

Peeta rests his head on the kitchen table. “What if the other guys think I’m impotent? Do you know what that’ll do to my reputation?”

I roll my eyes. “As a loving father of one? And it’s not the guys you have to worry about, it’s their snobby wives.”

Peeta shrugs. “I don’t know. They all think you’re a pretty big tight ass.”

“What are you doing, Peeta? Are you trying to pick a fight?” He shrugs and looks away, mumbling something.  Peeta Mellark,” I snap as if I’m talking to a child, “I asked you a question.”

“Maybe we should open the blinds,” he says, changing the subject. “It’s like living in a prison.”

“It makes it harder to get shot by a fifty cal in the head, unless that’s on your to-do list.”

Peeta doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, but when he looks at me again, it looks like we’re having a fight. I mean, I don’t even know, he’s just so confusing.

Finally, he gets up from his seat. “Where are you going?” I ask, following him into the living room.

“Making this feel less like a prison,” he tells me over his shoulder.

My breath catches in my throat. Of all the things he could do to rebel… it has to be the one thing I know that can protect us. Even he has to know that windows can be a sniper’s best friend; hell, any idiot can use them to his or her advantage. “Peeta…” I choke out, feeling the panic take over.

 _I have to protect my family…_ I tell myself over and over as I tackle Peeta to the ground. It’s a lot easier when he’s drunk. I sit across his hips and get his arm into an arm lock. “What are you doing?” I cry. “What’s going on in your head, Peeta? Please just tell me!”

He bucks me off his back, sending my face into the edge of the coffee table. I pick myself off the ground, clutching my cheek as something wet drips down my face. He looks like he can’t believe what he just did, but he doesn’t move to comfort me. I’ve never seen Peeta in a potentially life or death situation since Iraq and with a few months of worrying when the bullet that does us in is going to come, I have no idea how he’s going to react… If this is it, I hate it.

“He almost killed me, Peeta, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him from trying again,” I sob, “Just give me this one thing. This one thing I can do to protect our family…”

He reaches out to me with a steady hand but I get up, leaving him on the ground so I can wrap my mind around what’s happened.

* * *

I gargle and spit until the water runs clear. The hit into the coffee table pushed my teeth into my lips, but it’s nothing major. The split lip looks worse than it feels, but it’s the tender eye socket that has me worried. Just what I need, to get shit at work for having a shiner…

I head back into our bedroom and change into a t-shirt and shorts. I set a pair of sneakers at the edge of the bed, and know there's a rifle underneath. Who knows whether Cato will take the fight to us or if we’ll have to seek it out, but I’m going to be prepared.

I’m putting a bullet between his eyes.

I climb into bed and hug my pillow for dear life. At some point I fall asleep, only to be woken up by Peeta holding onto me like I’m about to disperse into the air. The back of my shoulder is soaked. “Peeta?” I croak, “What happened?”

“I don’t want him to put a wall between us. I’m not going to let him. I’m so sorry, Katniss.”

I reach up and scratch his scalp. “I know… but go to sleep… Tomorrow is a new day.”

At three am the phone rings, waking us up. “Fuck…” Peeta groans as I sit up to grab the phone.

“Hello?” I yawn, too stupid to check the caller ID.

“Ready to finish our game? I’m getting bored.” My heart stops but I have to recover quickly. I snap my fingers and point towards the door without saying anything. “Yes, tell your husband to get Riley. Then the three of you will be in one convenient spot.”

“Fuck you,” I spit as Peeta scrambles out of bed. “Why don’t we end this, just you and me.”

Cato chuckles on the other end. “It won’t be as fun as watching the two of you be ripped apart at the seams.”

I move to get out of bed and put on my shoes. “Oh, don’t worry about putting on your shoes. I’m nowhere near you.”

“You’re watching us…”

“And listening. Quite a spectacle you two put on last night, and a few weeks ago… but I won’t keep you awake for long. Just tell me, Katniss, who do you love the most?” he asks just as Peeta comes into the room with Riley. “Is it the child you never asked for, the husband you never wanted, or the sister you have given everything just short of your life to?” He’s setting it up to make it seem like the answer is obvious.

“You’re such a coward,” I growl. “Your fight is with Peeta and me, yet you’re threatening innocent lives. A two year old who can’t even spend a night in her bed, and a pacifist. You fucking cowardly little bitch.”

“I gave you three choices. Prim, Riley, or Peeta. Who do you love the most? Maybe they’ll go first, maybe they’ll go last.”

I’m in no place to make bold moves, so I do anyway. “Fuck you, I’m not playing your shitty little game. You want me to make a choice, I’m not. You’re a coward, a little fucking coward. I’m half your size and you’d rather talk on the phone than make your threats to my goddamn face. You want to hear my choice? Come get _me_.”

Cato never comes. We make it through a week before he makes his move. Peeta picks me up from work after being somewhere in the city. We’ve decided sleeping in shifts with Riley in our bed is the safest bet just in case. Neither of us has gotten more than a few hours a night in a week, but it’s what we have to do. Even with the FBI manhunt for this bastard we don’t feel safe, but we know Riley is safe at daycare, or so we think.

Peeta hands his ID over to the woman at the daycare who just smiles. “Oh, your brother and his wife picked her up about an hour ago,” she says to Peeta.

Peeta’s hand is immediately on my arm either to keep himself or me upright. “My brothers live in upstate Pennsylvania. They… they can’t just…”

I don’t know what I feel. Between Peeta’s vice-like grip and the ice in my stomach, I’m not sure emotions are allowed in my head. “Peeta!” I finally cry, scrambling to hold onto him. “He… he chose for me.”

Peeta’s vice-like grip is the only thing that stops me from running out of the building and ripping the city apart brick by brick until Riley is safe, and Cato is an unrecognizable bloody heap on the ground.

Peeta and I cling to each other as the world around us bursts into a frenzy of activity.

“They’re going to have to use dental records to identify his fucking body when I’m done with him,” Peeta growls. 


	55. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really drunk, so if this isn’t English I don’t care. 
> 
> This is the last chapter before the epilogue, so enjoy it. 
> 
> There are two guys cuddling in my apartment, I feel awkawrd.
> 
> Thank you Chelzie for polishing this up and Ro Nordmann for the banner. 
> 
> Than you readers for sticking with me this long.
> 
> And thank you guy at the bar for buying me eight drinks before I left because lololololololol, you were wearing a penguins jersey.
> 
> [](http://imgur.com/ANLMvAY)   
> 

My foot nudges the trash can I’ve used to vomit in about six times since they started questioning me, then once more after I returned to Peeta’s office. Everything has been brushed off his desk in a fit of rage, there’s a massive dent in his filing cabinet and he’s nowhere to be found. I safely assume he’s at the scene of the crime, a place I don’t dare to go.

The first person I call is Prim, who has basically blown up my phone since the Amber Alert for Riley first went out. “Holy fuck, finally! Katniss, I… I don’t even know what to say.”

I fall apart at her words. “He’s going to hurt her and I can’t stop him. I can’t protect her,” I sob, “Prim, what do I do?”

“I have no idea, Katniss… Want me to come down there?”

“No… Yes?” I sigh, “I don’t know…” I start picking files up from off the ground but get lost in the photo of Riley and I that Peeta has on his desk. It’s her and I, the first time we took her to the beach.

I’m holding Riley on my hip and pointing at a boat going by while she focuses on seagulls. I hug the picture frame to my chest.  _I’m going to break every bone in his body…_

Things are a lot easier when you’re the judge and jury, not when you're a parent having to go through proper channels, waiting for complete strangers to do _your_  job.

“I’m supposed to protect her from harm…” I tell Prim, “I failed…”

“No,” Prim snaps. “You haven’t. You and Peeta can’t blame yourselves for this.”

“Really? Because we had the option to get Riley out of here until all of this was over and Cato was six feet under, but we selfishly decided against it. Really? How are we not to blame?”

“Because you didn’t make the choice to do this - you didn’t decide to take Riley, it was made for you. You  _will_  get her back, Katniss. I know you. You’ll rip the city apart brick by brick. Use your resources, Katniss, and use your brain. You know how this guy operates, or at least you should. What’s your brain telling you?”

I think for a second. “That when I finally get my hands on him, I should start with his fingers and toes and work in towards the major bones.”

Prim sucks in air, which makes a hissing noise over the phone. “Well, that’s skipping a few steps. What do you think he’ll do next?”

 _If I were a sociopath_ , I wonder,  _what would I do next?_

I can’t even think straight. “Prim, I don’t know!” My head’s throbbing, my stomach is churning. I’m slipping, though my hazy mind is screaming something, that Prim will be next.

“Just… deadbolt your door, stay away from the windows and if anything suspicious happens, call 911.”

* * *

I need Peeta, I won’t even deny it. I stumble through the FBI building like a spooked whitetail that accidentally got into a moonshine still; I’m jerky, clumsy, and move as quickly as I can so no one will talk to me.

The moment I get into the daycare lobby, everything stops for a fraction of a second until Peeta rushes over to me and pulls me into his arms. “I talked to my parents, your parents. They confirmed that my brothers are in Pennsylvania…”

“That’s good…” I tell him, though I don’t recognize my voice; it’s completely void of life.

“She left something behind,” he tells me, pulling Lelephant out of his jacket pocket. I snatch it up quickly.

“She has no idea where she is,” I sob, “Or who has her, or why he hates her.” I stroke the stitching on Lelephant’s ear where Peeta and I have both sewn it back on after Riley’s endless rubbing. “And he’s going to kill her, just to spite us.”

I squeeze the worn, grey fabric as hard as I can. “And it’s all because I had the audacity to live. Because you chose to go find me instead of letting me bleed out and rot under that fucking building!”

Peeta shakes me. “Katniss!” he cries, “Stop, just… Just stop. Do you hear yourself? Don’t go back there. I can’t lose you.” I’m pressed against him again, the last remnant of our daughter squashed between our chests.

Peeta lets me break apart in this room full of strangers, too torn apart himself to move us to a private spot.

“I think Prim’s next…” I finally tell him after wiping my nose on my hand.

Peeta nods. “I’ll tell them, but after I make a few calls. We have to go home or away. We’re too close to this case.”

“I need some fresh air… Or to get as far away from here as possible. Meet me by your car?”

“Yeah… I won’t be more than five minutes.” He kisses my forehead and before he can leave me, I grab his hand and kiss his palm. “We’ll get through this,” he tells me.

“We always do,” I tell him, trying to remain hopeful.

* * *

The first thing that should have tipped me off to something being wrong is the beat-up green Explorer parked three spots away from Peeta’s car in an almost empty parking garage. The second should have been the clicking of the cooling engine, but I don’t register the potential threat until it’s too late.

I hear heavy footsteps quickly approaching me and before I can draw the gun that’s no longer in my holster and face my attacker, I’m on my back with a knee in my shoulder blades. The weight is light, easy enough to throw off and effortlessly overpower.

“Clove?” I gasp when I see my attacker’s face, and my shock gives her the upper hand. I struggle, but she’s strong. “Peeta!” I scream, hoping his five minute estimate remains true.

I swing my fist, making contact with her jaw and giving me the chance to get off the ground. “Where’s my daughter, you bitch?” I spit, blading myself off to her.

Clove holds her jaw. “If you come with me and don’t fight, I’ll take you to her.”

I don’t think at all. Instead, I let her handcuff me and force me into the back of the green SUV.

I have no plan; I’m unarmed and being taken to my certain death. I know I can get out of these cuffs, or at least get them in front of me; I need to wait for the right time, if there is one.

Instead of fighting, I press my forehead against the glass and watch Clove take the longest fucking route anyone could take to Prim and Rory’s while working my phone out of my back pocket and calling Peeta.

* * *

_Peeta_

Instead of Katniss meeting me in the parking garage, I’m met with Lelephant lying discarded behind my car. “Katniss!” I call and right on cue, my phone rings.

“Katniss, where are you?” I ask frantically. She’d never leave our daughter’s favorite toy behind.

“So Clove,” I hear Katniss say, though she seems far away. “Did you just pick the longest way to my sister’s place or are you trying to throw me off? I mean, you go through all this work to jump me in-“ I hear a thud and the call ends.

Clove has long since been assumed to be Cato’s accomplice, even though we’ve had no sign of her other than the missing person’s report filed by her family.

Sullivan calls me first to tell me that there’s a home invasion at my sister-in-law’s, with the suspect fitting Cato’s description. I know they’ve told me I’m too close to the case, but I strap on the bulletproof vest in my trunk anyways.

They have my family. Cato and Clove aren’t walking out of that apartment in one piece if things go my way.

* * *

Moving in downtown DC isn’t easy, even with blue lights. Sullivan and Greenwald got a five minute head start and no matter which way I go, I’ll never catch up.

They radio in to say they’ve arrived and are going in when I’m just a few blocks away. By the time I’m running up the stairs, shots cut through the silence in the building.

Agent Greenwald’s dead eyes greet me on the third floor, as well as a bloodied Sully.

“Peeta!” Katniss calls, “I could use a little help!” she shouts. When I round the corner, she has Cato on his knees, the short chain of the handcuffs binding her hands just under his chin.

When Cato sees me, he grabs Katniss by her wrists and jerks forward, sending her over his shoulders with a painful thud. He doesn’t move at first. Even in his crazy head, a gun pointed at him is reason enough to freeze.

“Katniss?”

“I’m fine,” she groans, rolling to her front. “Clove and Riley are long gone.”

I look away from Cato just long enough to throw my keys to Katniss so she can free her hands, and he’s off through the window and up the fire escape.

“Back-up’s on their way…” Sully tells me weakly before I follow after Cato.

Katniss manages to get one cuff off before picking up a discarded Glock and tossing my keys into the bedroom. I know it’s futile to tell her to stay behind; she wants Cato’s head on a platter just as much as I do, maybe even more…

* * *

_Katniss_

Peeta moves faster than I do, much faster. My head is still spinning from being tossed like a sack of flour and I can barely feel my fingers.

He’s already on the roof before I get up the last flight of metal steps.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you now?” Peeta asks in a gruff voice, which sounds strained.

“Because if you kill me, Riley dies,” Cato tells him before bursting into laughter.

“You killed a cop, one of  _my guys,_  and innocent people. And now you’re going to threaten my daughter?”

I hop onto the roof. Peeta has Cato in a headlock, but he doesn’t have the upper hand for long. “And you won’t kill me because I could level this entire city and you’d still choose her over innocent lives,” he tells us, laughing when he sees my gun pointed right for him.

“It’s over, Cato,” I tell him. “Just surrender,” I plead as he pushes away from Peeta, who looks like a savage animal ready to go for the throat. “You’re unarmed, outnumbered…”

“But I have  _your child_. How does it feel knowing I just walked into the daycare and picked her up? That someone could take her away from you that easily?”

Peeta punches him square in the jaw. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, hauling Cato to his feet by the collar of his shirt. “That’s my daughter you touched, you prick. Mine and hers. Did you really think this was going to turn out well for you?”

Cato moves his hand quickly, reaching for a switchblade in the waist of his jeans. “Knife!” I shout.

Peeta knows the last thing an attacker expects is for the victim to move towards him or her, so he grabs Cato’s hand and shoves, making him stumble but putting enough space between the two of them so I can get two quick shots off, without accidentally shooting Peeta.

I get Cato in the arm once, but on the wrong side to hit his brachial artery. It’s just enough to cause him pain, but the other misses completely. I’m not sure I’ll ever be good at shooting close range.

It’s the last straw in Cato’s crazy mind. “I’m not going back to prison,” he says, throwing the knife down. “No… Just no…”

Cato starts backing up towards the edge of the roof. “You don’t have to do this. No one else has to die. Just tell us where Clove and Riley are and this’ll all be over.”

He starts laughing hysterically at Peeta’s words. “Just because I’m going to die doesn’t mean my game isn’t over. No, this is far from over. Clove will listen to me.  She does what she’s told.”

I feel like that’s a jab at me, but I follow his slow progression without saying a word. Peeta knows how to handle these situations and if it wasn’t for Riley, I’d shove him off the fucking roof and hope he lands on his head. It’s a four story fall; survivable but not likely, especially if I paint the sidewalk with his brains.

“What’s one more death,” he mumbles, “What’s one more…”

Cato gets up on the ledge. “Do you hear yourself? Prison is worse than death? Are you fucking nuts? Hell, after this show, they’ll probably give you a padded cell,” I finally snap.

His haunting laughter starts again and he holds his arms out, preparing to let himself fall back. Peeta and I work as one and grab both of his wrists, trying to pull him back as he steps off.

Cato’s sheer weight nearly sends me over the edge, but Peeta stops both us from falling. “Just let me fall!” he shouts. “You know you want to! You came here to kill me, Mellark. Just finish the job!”

The arm that Peeta has is the one I shot, where most of the strength keeping Cato alive is coming from.

We try and pull him up together, but we’re not strong enough. Soon, the slick blood that dripped to Cato’s hand before his fall causes Peeta to lose his grip. Before I’m pulled over, he holds me around the waist, trying to use his legs against the ledge to pull Cato up.

“Just tell us!” I plead, tears soaking my face. We’re so close to having Riley back, so close to the torment being over. “Please,” I beg pathetically, ignoring the burn in my arm as the almost two hundred pound man in my grasp threatens to rip it off.

“Do you remember how she screamed when Clove took her from you?” My blood runs cold. Riley screaming for me will haunt me until the day I die. “She’s already dead. Clove suffocated her after she took her away from here. Clove does what she’s told.”

If he’s lying, his eyes aren’t betraying him. I don’t know whether my weak wrists give out first, or perhaps my heart, but everything stops and I let go.

With the added weight gone, Peeta and I tumble back in time to hear the thud of Cato’s body hitting the ground.

* * *

Sully is rushed to the hospital, alive but in critical condition. Greenwald leaves in a body bag. With half his skull missing, it was easy to pronounce him dead at the scene. Cato fired blindly, assuming the visitor was either Rory or Peeta.

An EMT gingerly wraps my wrists. Strangling Cato while in cuffs fucked them up a little.

“He was lying,” Peeta tells me. “Clove… she… she’s not… she wouldn’t.”

“I saw it in his eyes,” I whisper. I haven’t felt a damn thing since I let go of Cato. No pain, no sorrow, no joy. Someone could come up to me and rip my fingernails out one by one and I would probably just stare at them.

A crowd has gathered to see the special, but the show’s over. Cato was loaded into an ambulance groaning in pain. Somehow, he managed to survive… I guess he fell on his legs.

The good news is that I didn’t kill a man.

Prim and Rory come up to us; she has a black eye and he’s already planning on moving. Cato slowly cut a hole in their hall closet, big enough for him and Clove to sneak in and out with ease. Prim pulls the orange blanket the EMT gave her tightly around her body. The second she’s within arm’s reach, I pull her to me, sobbing like a baby into her shoulder.

They’re slowly coming back, my emotions… like a band-aid being ripped off. With each second that passes, it hurts more and more.

Riley is dead, and even if Cato is lying, Clove could be out of the city by now.

Peeta firmly grasps my arm. “Katniss,” his voice cracks as he says my name.

I look up from where I’ve soaked Prim’s blanket.

“Clove…”

My eyes aren’t fooling me. Clove is stepping past the police barricade, holding our daughter’s limp body in her arms. I feel the bile rising in my throat.

Peeta lets go of my arm and practically runs to Clove, who surrenders Riley without question. The second she’s back in her father’s arms, he presses his index finger to her pulse point. Peeta looks back to me and nods before shifting her weight in his arms and kissing her forehead.

Agents move to arrest Clove, but she pulls out a gun as Peeta smooths down Riley’s messy hair.

“D-don’t come near me!” she warns. “Everyone back away!” she shouts, waving the gun around.

Peeta never turns his back to her as he approaches my side, handing Riley off and kissing both of our foreheads.   

Clove says something, but I can’t hear it. My entire focus is on Riley, checking her for bruises, cuts, anything. “Riley?” I ask, gently shaking her just as one last gunshot echoes through the city.

The only scream heard is mine as Clove’s body falls to the ground. Peeta remains frozen halfway between us and the body, reaching out as if to plead with her, though she wouldn’t listen.

She’s the last death in Cato’s game. Cato’s failed revenge has left a trail of bodies and bullet holes leading straight to Peeta and I, but we’re still alive.

Riley shifts in my arms. “Mommy… my head hurts…”

“I know…” I whisper. “But your Daddy and I are right here…”

I refuse to let go of her, even after we bring her to the hospital to be examined. I stay with her as Peeta calls our families. She’s never out of my sight, not even for a fraction of a second.

The doctors check for bruises while Riley cries out for both of us. Every inch of her body is examined before they tell me I can dress her again. The only bruise on her body is a small one the size of a thumb print, where she hit the corner of the kitchen table.

“We just have to draw a little blood,” the nurse tells me as Riley hides from her in my chest.

“Bunny? Can you look up at me?”

Riley’s red-rimmed blue eyes break my heart. “They’re just going to take a little blood, you’ll barely feel it.” The nurse pushes up her sleeve, “And when we get home, we’ll watch whatever movie you want.”

“I want the Mermaid!” she shouts, flinching when the rubber band is tied around her arm.

 _If there is a God, please let her have Peeta’s veins_ … A drunk could draw blood from him, but me on the other hand…

“Alright, just a little pinch…” I cry more than she does. Riley doesn’t really care. She just wants to watch  _The Little Mermaid_  now that I’ve put the idea in her head.

“Mommy, what happened?” she asks, patting my wrapped wrists as the nurse takes vial after vial of blood from her.

“I hurt them while Daddy and I tried to stop that bad man.”

“You stopped him, right?”

I nod, Cato’s psychotic laughter still echoing in my head. We stopped him all right, but the damage has been done. “Yeah, bunny… we stopped him.”

“I knew it,” she tells me smugly.

* * *

Riley insists on walking out of the ER on her own. At three in the morning, we’re finally allowed to go home; she has a clean bill of health and is still dead set on watching _The Little Mermaid_ with her Dad and I.

She holds on to both of our hands, leading the way. “Swing me,” she commands.

Peeta and I exchange glances. “Okay, one,” Peeta counts as we walk down the hall.

“Two…” My grip on her wrist tightens.

“Three!” She picks her legs up off the ground, depending on Peeta and I to keep her up. We move her little body back and forth as she laughs.

* * *

We don’t care how late it is. I give Riley a bath, letting her play in the water while I grab a quick shower, keeping a close eye on her.

Peeta comes upstairs just after I pull on her PJ’s carrying the DVD and a grilled cheese. Neither of us are hungry, but Riley inhales her dinner and brushes her teeth while her father gets ready for bed.

Tonight, we don’t care about sleeping with Riley between us, or that she passes out before Ariel has legs.

We walked through the fires of hell together and came out virtually unscathed, physically speaking.

Peeta and I continue to watch the movie as the sun rises. “Sha-la-la-la-la-la, my oh my…” Peeta sings along while absentmindedly rubbing up and down Riley’s back like he’s making sure she’s still here.

I give him a weird look. “I have a daughter. This is a requirement,” he tells me.

“Too bad you didn’t know this song in high school,” I tease.

Peeta leans across the space between us and kisses my cheek, “Too bad you didn’t either. I was waiting for a long time.”


	56. Epilogue: The Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only plan to write one more thing in this universe, and it’s a oneshot that takes place ten years down the line. 
> 
> I thought I would be more emotional at this point, but honestly I’m ready to close this book. I’ve been writing this fic for over a year. That’s a long time. D:
> 
> I will be announcing the fic that will replace this one tomorrow, or like… right after I post this. 
> 
> Thank you Chelzie and everyone who has helped me with this fic. You all are amazing.

“You can’t curl ribbon with a knife!” Peeta scolds.

I stick out my tongue and pull the white ribbon across the blade, shivering at the scratching noise but smugly showing him my perfectly curled ribbon.

“So, how was work?” I ask idly, writing that this gift is from Santa, not us.

“Had to visit Cato in the hospital.”

I shiver when he says his name. Cato somehow managed to survive, but lost both of his legs. Peeta says he’s a product of his own destruction. “Things are moving along, he could go on trial as early as March.”

I nod slowly. Cato is currently the source of a lot of my pain, but my therapist keeps telling me I need to take control of my own life. Cato can’t control me or force me to live in fear. Peeta and I have to live for ourselves and for Riley.

“Peeta?” I ask. There’s one thing I’ve been meaning to ask. One thing that I know I want that only he can give me. It took a lot of weekly meetings to realize what the urge deep in my core was.

Peeta looks up from his wrapping; how we left this until Christmas Eve is beyond me. “Yeah, babe?” We’re on Riley’s last gift, so now is as good a time as any.

“I want another baby.”

Peeta digs at his ear. “I’m sorry, what?”

I take a deep breath, “Before we know it, Riley’s going to be in school, and she’s already so big. I love Prim, and you love your brothers. Both of us couldn’t imagine growing up without them…”

His blank stare tells me that this fucker still doesn’t believe me.

“God dammit, Peeta! Put a baby in me!”

He cleans up quickly, shoving the box of wrapping paper in the hall closet before pulling me up off the ground. “Well, let’s get to work!”

We don’t risk getting caught downstairs by Riley so I lead the way upstairs as Peeta keeps close, his hand gently swatting at my backside every few steps.

Peeta locks the door to avoid any mental scarring for Riley and throws his grey Phillies t-shirt at my head. “Is this your idea of foreplay?” I ask.

He shrugs, “Just trying to lighten the mood. We’ve never, you know, done this before. Try to have a baby, that is. This is still something you want, right?” he asks as I move in and get on my toes to kiss his neck and work his pants down. I keep my body so close to his that I can feel his moan rumble through him.

“We’re going to do this, right?” he asks, my physical response not good enough for him.

I step back and tug on the elastic of his boxer briefs, then let go so it snaps against his skin. “You’ve wanted a second kid for a while, and it took me some time, but I’m ready. We’ve waited long enough to expand our family.” He pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it into the darkness where I’ll have to find it before we go to sleep. “It’ll be you, me, Riley, the cat, the baby…”

Peeta looks up from untying my sweatpants. “And a dog,” he says with a huge grin on his face. “A big one,” he tells me once my pants are on the ground.

We walk over to the bed. He lies down and I sit in between his legs, running my fingers up and down the jagged scar on his thigh. True to form, we don’t just jump into this.

Neither of us misses the gravity of this situation. We’ve decided to expand our family, or I’ve finally agreed to it.

Peeta moves first. “Get on your back,” he tells me gently as he sits up, kissing my forehead before getting up on his knees. I listen, but move to my side of the bed. Peeta rolls his eyes before taking his spot between my legs. “What, my pillow not good enough for you?”

“It’s too flat from your big head,” I whisper as he leans over me. I bring my hand up and cup his cheek as he presses his soft lips to mine.

Once we set our mind to this task, I lose myself in my husband’s loving embrace almost every single night, except the few days every month where my body and I are angry at each other for not being pregnant.

We resort to a new level of desperation, the eight hundred different positions people say increase the chances of getting pregnant, me laying with a pillow under my ass, and quickies over our lunch hours on my most fertile days.

Actually trying to expand our family proves to be damn near impossible unless we count the four-legged addition we make to our private zoo.

She came with the name Sasha and no matter how much Riley demanded that we name her Flounder, Sasha will always be Sasha. She was my present to Peeta for our sixth anniversary.

Sasha is seventy pounds of lovable, nosy Golden Retriever who spends most of her time trying to fit that fourth tennis ball in her mouth.

* * *

_September 2010_

Peeta and I become increasingly frustrated with each other. I feel like a failure of a wife, he feels like a failure of a husband.

We decide to take a few nights off from trying. We’re physically spent and emotionally drained, even though we know other couples try for years before it happens.

It’s almost fall, but we’re still stuck in the last stubborn heat wave of the season. We meet it with an equal stubbornness not to turn on the air conditioning and run around in our underwear the second Riley is asleep, forgoing decency.

“Rub my feet,” Peeta requests, placing his foot in my lap as we watch the weather bitch tell us we’re in for two more 87 degree days.

“Eww no, men feet are gross!” I’m too hot to make him move his foot, so I trade him a foot rub for a foot rub.

When fatigue finally sets in, I mumble that I’m going to go shower and creep upstairs as not to wake Riley or alert Sasha to movement in the house. She hates the heat as much as I do and spends most of her time lying by windows or on air vents, waiting for the A/C to kick in.

It’s too hot for a t-shirt, so I settle for the red nightgown Cinna and Portia gave us for our anniversary, since that’s apparently what they do. It’s short and silky and definitely the lightest thing I have to sleep in.

I lay facing the window, away from Peeta who immediately puts his leg over mine and presses his bare chest against my back. “No… you’re hot,” I grumble, holding onto his hand anyway. Hot or not, I like the closeness.

He brushes away my wet hair and kisses right where my neck meets my back. His mouth explores my neck and shoulders as his hand pulls up my nightgown. I feel him grow hard against my backside as he tries and succeeds to get me off while kissing and biting at my shoulders.

“I thought we were taking a break tonight?” I ask, panting.

Peeta shifts slightly; I hear rustling behind me but I’m too comfortably numb to check, “From trying to make a baby, yeah. This is for us…” he mumbles into my shoulder as he lifts my leg and tilts my hip down ever so slightly.

We moan in unison as he enters me. This must be the laziest fucking way in the world to have sex, but on this hot night, it’s all we’re going to get. And it’s perfect.

We’re a mess of sweaty limbs by the time we’re through and Peeta’s laughing that I have a trail of hickeys going from my neck down to my shoulder. I’m too hot and tired to care until the next morning, when I remind him that we’re both about fifteen years too old to be getting these.

Peeta and I don’t resume our rigorous baby making schedule, but as it turns out, we don’t have to.

* * *

_Christmas 2010_

Peeta and I underestimated just how many people our house can actually fit. It was his idea at first, to get everyone we love here for Christmas, or the few days after it.

Peeta stretches in bed. “See, I told you getting a sleeper sofa was a good idea.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, because when we bought it, we were expecting your parents to be in  _our_  bed,” I tease. That was my idea. Peeta and I are young… ish, spending months at a time sleeping on uncomfortable cots in the desert or sharing a twin bed. “And my Mom and stepdad are in our guest room.”

Peeta rolls towards me, the thin mattress crinkling as his weight shifts. “You called him your stepdad.”

I shrug and turn my head to look at him. “I’ve been talking to my shrink; I know that he will never replace my Dad in anyone’s minds, but he loves my mother like Dad did, and he loves Prim and I like his own, so…”

“You’ll accept Robert as an Everdeen…”

I snort. “Yeah… no. Could you imagine?” No one from up in Pennsylvania can afford the travel expenses to come down here, and them leaving the county would be like giving the cat a bath.

I hear the soft thump of the dog’s paws hitting the floor in Riley’s room. She'll poke her nose at everyone’s door, looking for Peeta and I before coming downstairs and realizing we’re still in the family room.

Sure enough, Sasha cautiously climbs on the sofa bed a minute later, kicking Amal off with her big head.

I check my cell phone as Peeta gets distracted by the dog. “We’re going to win this Christmas,” he tells Sasha, “Right, girl?”

I show him my screen, which reads 12:02. “It’s officially Christmas.” He kisses just under each of my eyes, scratching at my face with his unshaven jaw before kissing me very,  _very_  slowly. I reach my arm around him to pull myself closer before throwing my leg over his hips. Peeta groans and grabs my ass, pulling me closer as he thrusts his hips into mine.

The dog protests by barking, reminding us that she doesn’t particularly enjoy it when people kiss.

“Does Sasha mean ‘cockblock’ in any language?” I ask.

Peeta shrugs as we settle back in for the night. “Fuck if I know, I’m tired.”

I’m almost asleep when my overly excited husband starts enticing the cat as he does  _every fucking night_.

“Peeta…” I groan. “I need my sleep. Stop playing with the cat. He’s just going to-“

Peeta hisses as the cat surely goes after his foot. Every night it’s the same game. He’ll nudge the cat with whatever limb is closest and move either the hand or foot until the cat starts batting at it. The only issue is that Amal learned everything he knows on the streets and has no issue with trying to murder Peeta’s hand or foot.

I sit up, ignoring the creaking of the bed and pick up my cat. “Come on, baby, it’s bed time.”

“I love you,” Peeta tells me. It’s the last thing I hear before I go to bed, and the first thing I hear when I wake up every morning, except for this one.

The first thing I hear is my in-laws trying to be as quiet as they can in the kitchen at 6 am. Peeta’s still sound asleep, but both animals get off our bed and find the noise with me groggily following behind them. “Late start?” I tease on my way to the bathroom.

“We wanted to make sure we beat Riley down here,” Peeta’s mother tells me. Everyone in this house is used to being awake and ready for the day before 7 am except for my mother and step-father, who are dragged out of bed by my overly excited daughter by everyone’s third cup of coffee.

“In here, Bunny,” Peeta calls.

“I’m not hungry!” Riley tells us. “Santa came!”

My greatest joy might be the ability to give Riley what I didn’t have as a child. Though her screaming manages to give me a headache within 30 minutes of her coming down the stairs, I can’t remember a moment where I’ve been happier.

Mom hands Peeta and I a box wrapped in gold paper. “You didn’t have to get us anything,” Peeta tells her after setting down his coffee.

Mom waves him off. “It’s nothing, really… just something I thought would be nice for the three of you to have.”

Peeta unwraps the gift while I ball up the gold wrapping paper. Inside the white box under the wrapping paper is a simple black and silver photo album. The first picture in it is from when Peeta was in the hospital while we were in Iraq. I’m holding his hand and giving him the sloppiest kiss on the cheek.

“Our first Christmas together…” I tell him, touching the picture.

“I forgot how dark you get overseas,” he teases before I elbow him in the ribs. There’s a picture in here for every Christmas we’ve spent together. Riley comes over to look at the pictures just in time for me to reach the one where I’m pregnant with her.

“Eww, Mommy, you’re fat.”

I slide the album over so it’s completely on Peeta’s lap and grab our daughter. “Yeah, because you were in my tummy, and if you tease me again, I’ll put you back in!”

“No!” she bellows, squirming out of my hands and down to the ground.

The rest of the day is quiet. My mother-in-law drags… I mean, invites us all to church, even though she tried and succeeded last night. The real fun starts two days after Christmas. I arrive home late from work to a driveway and street full of cars.

The house is so noisy but so welcoming as everyone prepares for the close to thirty people that will be invading it tonight.

“Well, look who showed up!” Johanna teases, kissing me on both my cheeks before passing Chloe off to me. Gale and Johanna’s daughter looks more and more like her every day; if I didn’t know better, I’d say Johanna made her on her own.

“Want to know what your uncle and I got you for Christmas?” I ask my three-year-old goddaughter.

“What?” she squeals as I shift her in my arms and pretend to drop her.

“Whole bucket full of nothing!”

“No!” she squeals, “I've been a good girl!”

Johanna rolls her eyes and takes her daughter from me. “Aunt Katniss is a bad, bad woman, and you already opened up your gift from them.”

“Oh, yeah…”

Gale threatens to crush my ribs when he greets me. “Catnip! How’s domestic life treating you?”

“I’m less crazy,” I tell him. Even with the hell we went through last year, I’m doing better. “So good, I guess?”

Gale holds me close; so much has changed since that day in 1999 when I decided to enlist. Sure, we’re technically the same people, but if our eighteen year old selves could see who we are today, I doubt they’d recognize us. We’re messes of scars and mental traumas. Gale’s features look passively hard when he’s not paying attention, like he has to work to switch off the ‘business’ part of his mind. I’m sure I’m the same way, as is Peeta.

I excuse myself to change after Gale lets go of me. My body’s already starting to change, although it’s subtle. Peeta notices and teases that my fun parts are getting bigger; it’s his polite way of saying my ass and tits are more… prominent.

“Hey,” Peeta says, sneaking into our bedroom. “How was work?”

I shrug and pull my already snug jeans up. “It was work. I had to tell Haymitch today.”

Peeta nods slowly. “What did he say?” he asks, coming over to take my hand.

“That it took us long enough…”

* * *

The dog is alerted to our last visitor before they ring the doorbell. This last one was my idea.

“I’ll get it!” I call, pushing through people. “Peeta, sit the hell down. I’ve got it!” We wanted everyone here that meant something to us,  _everyone_.

Annie hasn’t changed much since we last saw her, except the bump under her sweater has been replaced by a tan, redheaded daughter that could only be Finnick’s.

“Our plane was delayed,” she stammers. I got in contact with her over the summer through my mother. Peeta didn’t know until around Halloween when he intercepted a letter containing a picture of the kids in their costumes. “How are you, how’s the…” she peeks over my shoulder, “Baby?” Besides Peeta, Riley, Haymitch and I, Annie is the only other person who knows I’m expecting. Our plan is to reveal it tonight with everyone here so we don’t have to deal with the phone calls and everything. I didn’t want there to be any chance that Annie might take it as us rubbing our good fortune in her face.

“You know, swimming around. Come in,” I hold out my hand to a reluctant Daniel as Annie clings to baby Grace.

“Do you think they’re still mad?” she whispers as I lead her into the kitchen where the majority of the people are.

I shake my head no. Everything stops when the four of us enter the room. “Sorry we’re late,” Annie tells everyone quietly, “Our plane was delayed.”

Johanna is the first to speak up. “Who cares?” she says, getting up from her seat, “You’re here!” There are no hard feelings about Annie leaving for California after Finnick’s death. It was what she needed at that time. As I watch everyone greet her, I find I’m the first to crack.

Peeta keeps me close after that point, coaxing me to eat even though I want nothing more than to talk with our extended family.

“Ready?” he asks after he’s satisfied with what I’ve forced into me for now.

We move around completely unnoticed in the commotion of the house, passing out envelopes and apologizing that we didn’t get them out on time. Peeta was working late nights, I’d say. Katniss was down at Quantico a lot, he’d say. We also asked for them to not open them just yet.

Finally, when our hands are empty, we fight for everyone’s attention, “’Scuse me?” I ask, leaning into Peeta. No one quiets down, but Riley comes to latch onto my leg. I put her on my hip and get up on our vacant kitchen chair. “Alright! Everyone quiet down!” I shout before hopping down. “Sorry,” I say as my cheeks get hot.

“You can all open your cards now,” Peeta says, taking Riley from me. “Before my wife makes us all deaf!”

I shoot him a dirty look but watch for everyone’s reactions. Haymitch took the picture; Peeta’s fixing his tie, still in his suit from work while I’m still in camies, trying to keep the dog from chasing the cat, and Riley is laughing and clapping at our antics.

_It wouldn’t be Christmas if we weren’t surrounded by friends and family. Love, Peeta, Katniss, Riley, Amal, Sasha and Baby Mellark._

Prim almost knocks me on my ass when she rushes over to me. “Congratulations!” she squeals, crushing my ribs. “Let me deliver this one,” she whispers before backing away and nodding creepily.

I get tears, kisses on the cheek, hands on my stomach, and awkward hugs. Peeta gets his hand shaken and pats on the back.

“I’m going to be a big sister!” Riley shouts. “And I’m going to DisneyWorld because I kept their secret!” she yells proudly.

Peeta scoops her up again. “You sure are, bunny, and someday your secret keeping is going to make someone very… happy.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, shut up…” I grumble.

* * *

_2011_

Everyone stays for New Years but leaves a few days after. Annie is taking her kids back to California but found a job out there, working for the VA. She says she feels weird being so far from Finnick. She also tells me that she met a man who she thinks loves her as much as Finnick did. She knows she cares for him, she's just not sure whether she’s ready to let someone into her and the kids’ life.

With her second grandchild on the way, Mom has finally decided to move back up to DC with her new husband as soon as Robert finds a job and they find a house.

Gale reluctantly tells me he’s being relocated out west, just north of San Diego, California. It was either there or Japan, he told me.

As my pregnancy progresses, I hear more and more whispers that I don’t belong at my post or even in the Marine Corps. It’s one of the rare moments where I let my pregnancy hormones take control and verbally beat a man almost twice my size into submission.

I also find out yet again that I’m not very fit to be pregnant. I forget my size regularly and after a stressful day of maternity leave, the silverware drawer and I cross paths yet again. I always forget that now I have to close the drawer when I want to put away a plate. My stomach slams it closed just enough to drive me over the edge.

I lock myself in the bedroom and cry for about a half hour about how the kitchen wasn’t designed for a pregnant woman. Peeta practically knocks down the door when I can’t stop crying and refuse to come out. He tries to console me, but when I explain my predicament, he laughs in my face and ends up on the couch for a night because I don’t want him dirtying the guest room sheets.

Karma gets me when my practice contractions become the real thing and I can no longer ignore them. My water breaks, soaking our good sheets.

Aiden Ryan Mellark is a screaming mess when they hand him to me after only four hours in the hospital. Our parents both missed his birth, and honestly, it was so quick that I almost did, too.

He has his father’s strong chin, my grey eyes, and the same wispy dark hair that Riley had when she was born. “I was hoping for a blonde,” Peeta tells me, sitting at the edge of my hospital bed and nods in Riley’s direction. She refused to go anywhere that wasn’t the hospital when my scream for Peeta woke her up. As soon as Aiden was born and Riley got to hold him with Peeta’s help, she fell asleep curled up on the uncomfortable couch in the room.

“His hair might change,” I tell him as Aiden nurses. “Riley’s hair is darker than mine…”

I end up being correct. At about five weeks old, Aiden goes completely bald and by Christmas, he’s the blonde Peeta hoped for.

After the kids get to sleep on Christmas Eve, I start searching through pictures from last Christmas that people sent me. “What are you doing?” Peeta asks as I tuck the one picture with all of us in it in the silver corners of the page.

I lift up the book and show Peeta. “Our family,” I tell him. When I was young, I learned that family doesn’t mean blood, it means loyalty. The people in this picture have walked through the fires of hell with me, and I know they have my back no matter what the battle. “It’s big, and a little scattered right now, but they’re ours.”

I go to the first page, us in Baghdad. If I could tell my twenty-three year old self that she’d forgo the rifle case for a big backyard in the suburbs with two kids, a cat and a dog, she’d laugh at me. I’d try to explain to her that the path to the last picture is long and filled with pain but so worth it, and I know she wouldn’t believe me.

“We’ve changed so much…” he says, flipping the page. As we go from year to year of our marriage, our gifts to each other of clothes and gag gifts are replaced by baby clothes, colorful toys, and Peeta staring intently at Riley’s doll house, trying to figure out how to get it to close up. “I still hate that fucking doll house.”

* * *

_2013_

I watch what can only be Turkmenistan pass under me in the early morning light. It was a tough decision, one that took months of going back and forth and hesitating for me to finally transfer back to a deployable platoon. I knew they needed me, and Peeta knew I had to go. All Riley and Aiden knew was that I was leaving and for who knows how long.

I try and get some sleep, but it’s next to impossible with all the snoring and the woosh of the plane. I’m with a fresh batch of grunts; many baby faced eighteen and nineteen year olds who have no idea what to expect.

We touch down in Afghanistan earlier than expected and I’m greeted with the blazing sun and dry heat that only the Middle East can bring. 

“Welcome to Paradise, Lieutenant Colonel!” Gale greets, throwing his arm around me.

I shy away from it, just as I did when I first landed in Fallujah ten years ago. “God dammit Hawthorne, can’t you behave for five minutes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more of my fics and my general bitchery, please find me at falafelwaffel.tumblr.com


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